For Every God, A Martyr
by fetch-thranduilion
Summary: Death Note AU Xover. A series of strange murders catapults Clair from being Judoh's Most Wanted to its Most Eligible Bachelor, but his feelings for a reckless boy on the case interfere. And what's up with Kyoko's new coworkers? Rating upped for yaoi.
1. Boredom, Allies

I've never written something like this before, genre-wise, and it's my first Death Note fiction as well, so criticism is welcomed. All characters belong to people both smarter and richer than I am, which I suppose gives them the right to make me write this little blurb.

**Episode.01: -BOREDOM- (Allies)**

Sitting in the shadows, the creature munched absently on a piece of fruit and watched with interest as the young man, hunched over at the desk, busily worked away. Months had passed since the creature's companion had engaged himself in this particular diversion, and he seemed to be making up for lost time. Though the young man did little more than glance at his computer and scribble down his findings, smirking every once in a while (the creature could not see the young man's face, but his entire body posture conveyed a gigantic smirk of sorts), the tension in the room stifled all other emotions. The creature thrived on such tension. It kept things interesting.

Leaning back at last, the young man stretched his arms out behind his head, yawning slightly. "That's it for tonight," he remarked. "Best to take things slow for awhile."

The creature stared at the object on which the young man had been writing. "That's slow?" he asked doubtfully, looking at the immense volume of "work" the young man had accumulated in the past two hours. He chuckled. "I almost pity the world should you decide to work quickly."

"Don't tease me. I'm not talking quantity here, I'm talking intensity." The young man flipped backwards in his notebook, showed the creature the first page. One name, scribbled almost whimsically, kept the pure white surface from being completely blank. "As much as I'd like to take more people like him down, his death alone nearly doomed the city. I have to strip the branches before I take out the roots."

"Whatever you say." The creature didn't care about trees, literal or otherwise, unless they produced fruit of some sort. "It's your game, not mine. I'm just a bystander."

His companion snorted, putting the notebook away. "Sure you are. I'm going to bed. Time for someone else to make the next move in the game." He gestured, and the creature got off of the bed so the young man could turn down the covers and climb in.

"Tonight was entertaining," the creature said as the young man switched off the final light and lay back on the pillows.

A low laugh drifted through the darkness of the room. "Just you wait. Tomorrow will be even more so."

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

The next day dawned bright, crisp, and cloudless, the midwinter air sharp but not bitingly cold; Judoh's climate was not given to dropping past the freezing point. Commuters packed the streets, wishing each other "good morning" with a bit more spring in their steps than usual. Sunny days have such an effect on most people, possessing for whatever reason the curious ability to endow the human spirit and mind with extra energy and vitality in nine out of ten cases.

The odd case out woke up reluctantly, plodded to his heavily-drawn window, gazed blearily out through the heavy, luxurious curtains, squinted in the light, and made the sluggish trek back into his bed. It was still twenty-two minutes before his usual waking time, and he had no intentions, sun or no sun, of spending them anywhere but ensconced between his mattress and his blankets.

It didn't really matter anyway. Nothing was going to happen. Ever since the Special Unit boy had skipped out on all his responsibilities and gone joyriding who-knew-where, the whole city had been deader than a deserted morgue. The new day could wait twenty-two more minutes to make the acquaintance of Clair Leonelli, Vampire of Company Vita. He was still tired, damn it. And what was more, he was bored.

Unfortunately, not everyone had been informed of this agreement between the young man and the universe in general. He had just dozed off again when a knock on the heavy wooden doors startled him, his heart jumping for a split second and his temper instantly rankled. Sitting up, he was about to yell at whoever had dared trespass near his private chambers before the usual time, then realized that getting up would be exactly what the intruder wanted of him. So with all the maturity his nineteen years bestowed when coupled with his position as the most powerful influence in the underworld, Clair pulled the covers all the way over his black-and-blue head and pretended he hadn't heard the knock.

The sound came again—louder this time, more insistent. Clair uncovered his head and shot a glance at his clock. Seven minutes left. He would wait them out, then appear nonchalantly in his doorway like nothing had happened.

Another knock. Whoever it was was surprisingly persistent. Frowning, Clair ran through his list of possible suspects in his head and found he could not definitively make a guess as to his rude guest's identity. Giovanni would have called through the door, and he didn't knock with his knuckles like this person was doing; he knocked with the back of his hand, which made a different type of sound through the wood. Mauro wouldn't dare approach his Young Master's room until the appointed time. To his knowledge, he hadn't acquired any new staff that would need familiarizing with the rules; the old staff stayed as far away from his room as they could get unless personally told to clean up. So then...what was going on?

"Vampire?" Finally, a voice, but not one he knew. What was Mauro thinking, letting strangers into his living wing? Clair groaned, set his clock three minutes ahead out of spite so his alarm would go off, switched off the machine after it rang a few times, and swung his legs out of bed again. Wrapping himself in his bathrobe and glancing quickly in the mirror to ascertain he looked at least half-decent, he opened a door a crack.

"Come back later," he informed the pinstripe-suited man on the other side. "Better yet, talk to Mauro. He handles all my correspondences. Now get out."

"P-pardon me, Vampire," the man stuttered—Clair smiled to himself at the thought that he'd made the man afraid of him with a single order-- "but I have orders not to tell anyone but you this news."

"It can wait," Clair decided without even a moment's pause, already heading for the bathroom attached to his sleeping quarters. "Be in the foyer when I'm ready to see you. And have proof of who sent you ready."

"But Vampire!"

Clair closed the bathroom door; the lock clicked in a most satisfactory fashion as he turned it. Turning, he pressed the intercom button he'd had installed—he'd wanted a mode of dictation available should he come up with a brilliant plan in the shower, and the device sent a signal directly to his right-hand man's cell phone. "Giovanni?"

"Vampire!" The bodyguard sounded a bit surprised. "What's wrong?"

"Who the hell is outside my door?" He turned on his bathtub faucets, considered for a moment, then clicked the plug on the bottom of the tub into place. This day was not starting well. He deserved a bath. "And how did they get that far in?"

"I've been in the kitchen helping with breakfast." Clair snorted--'helping with breakfast' likely meant 'spilling coffee and flirting fruitlessly with the kitchen maids.' "Mauro's handled all the door traffic."

"There's been _more_?"

"Bell's been ringing like a damn church during a wedding. You're a popular man today."

Clair groaned and shut his eyes. "Giovanni. Go out in the foyer and count them."

"Six—no, one just wandered in from your direction. I see tokens from all the other factions of the Board."

"Sit them down. I might take a while." Opening his eyes, he saw the bathtub was in danger of overflowing and switched off the faucets. Then, frowning still deeper, he turned back to the intercom. "Wait a minute. Someone came from Iwanami's group?"

"Looks it. Wearing his type of suit."

"Keep an eye on that one. Dead men don't send messengers."

"You got it. Have a nice bath."

"How'd you know I decided to take a--" But the line went dead. Clair shrugged off his bathrobe, tossed his pajamas on top of it, and stepped into the bath, already hating the day.

Then he scowled, his opinion of life's general rottenness officially cemented. The water was still cold.

**O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Her pink heels clicking smartly against the office building's polished floor, Kyoko Milchan strode down the hallway to the office where she worked, bright and perky as the sunshine outside. Though it had barely started, she could already tell her day would be wonderful, having woken up refreshed from a long night's sleep and made a lunch-and-shopping date with her mother over breakfast. This, she had decided, would be the day. Today, this beautiful sunny day when it seemed nothing could go wrong, she would at last tell her parents how she and the young man who had accidentally joined them for a meal once, despite both their protests to the contrary, had finally admitted their feelings for each other.

Of course, such a confession would also involve explaining how said young man had gotten an exit visa and was currently on a self-run tour of the rest of the world, which she didn't feel would sit so well with her audience, especially her mother. Kyoko loved her mother dearly, but she also freely admitted whatever proper, conservative streak held up her own backbone so rigidly, she had inherited from the Yulgences and not the Milchans. Most likely her mother would demand to know why, if the young man truly loved her, he hadn't given up on his own dreams and settled down with her immediately. There really was no answer to that inquiry, save that it wasn't the sort of thing Daisuke would ever think of doing, and that frankly Kyoko wouldn't _want_ him to; but that answer could hardly be considered satisfactory to any party. Such disapproval, however, was an obstacle she was prepared and willing to face.

Less expected, and less welcome, was the sight that greeted her as she stepped through the sliding metal door to the office and headquarters of the Judoh City Safety Management Agency Special Unit.

"What—who—what is all this?" Kyoko stammered, staring at the floor awash in puzzle pieces and scattered with what looked like toy replicas of androids. She always made a point of cleaning thoroughly before leaving—there was no reason for the place to be a mess—and honestly, what were children's playthings doing in her office?

"Good morning, Kyoko. You look cute as always," her android colleague J complimented her from his traditional position in the corner, next to the coat rack where hung his trademark black hat. "The belongings on the floor are Near's property."

"Near?" Her eyes landed on the bottom corner of her desk: sticking out from behind it, the rest of the body concealed behind the desk proper, was a child's foot covered in a dirty white sock. "Who is Near?"

"I'm Near." The rest of the boy to whom the stockinged foot belonged emerged from behind the desk, holding a puzzle piece in one hand. "It got kicked behind your desk. I apologize for intruding on your personal space." Clambering up onto Daisuke's couch, he clicked the piece into place within an already half-finished puzzle, then descended back into the disaster area to search once more. During the whole encounter he neglected to look Kyoko in the eyes, his white curly head bowed studiously over his pastimes.

Kyoko blinked and gingerly stepped around Near's scattered toys to reach her desk. "I'm Kyoko Milchan. It's nice to meet you, Near. But...pardon my asking, but..." 

"You should have gotten the notice about my arriving two days ago at the latest," Near interrupted, anticipating her question but speaking without, it seemed, much interest in the complication. "L sent me as a substitute for your absent agent."

She'd been so busy filing complaints from citizens and making still more excuses for Daisuke that she hadn't had time to go through all the mail. "L?" Kyoko asked in bewilderment, then looked up at J again. "Wait, replace? J, what's going on? You're still Daisuke's partner, aren't you?"

"I am," the machine confirmed. "But a potential case has arisen that makes increasing the number of agents in the Special Unit a priority, especially after the developments of last night."

Kyoko hadn't had time to read or watch the news that morning, preoccupied as it were with her plans for later in the day. "Why, what happened last night?" she asked, sitting down and calling up a news site on her computer. Scanning the headlines, her brows furrowed in confusion. "How odd..." she mused.

"Isn't it?" Near scooped a few pieces up into one hand and added them, one by one, to the rapidly growing puzzle. "So many wanted and convicted criminals, all dying of heart attacks in a single night. Strange as it seems, the numbers are too great to be mere coincidence. That's why L sent me. He's already on another case, but can't let something like this pass either. So I'm handling this one, and you'll be assisting me."

"Can this even be called a case?" Kyoko asked, scrolling down the list of names; no one seemed willing to tell her who this "L" was, so she let the question remain unsettled for the time being. The boy's rudeness in referring to her, who officially worked for the Special Unit, as an "assistant" only also rankled, but to start off on an amiable note with the child she bit her tongue. "There's no telling why this happened."

"Actually, criminals have been dying in strange ways since a few weeks after Shun Aurora's arrest. This particular barrage of deaths coincidentally fell on the night before I joined you. L assigned me to the case with far less evidence of its validity. I have my own doubts about the cause of his phenomenon, but for now it is simplest to work with L's theory: there is someone out there making these deaths occur." Near sighed. "Unfortunately, the killer will draw quite a bit of attention to himself with this latest onslaught, which will make our job harder. He intends to make his presence known and likely expects some sort of response. And I'm afraid that, if we want to try and catch him, we'll have to give him one. Though I hate giving way to provocation." Abandoning his puzzle temporarily to pick up a toy machine, he twisted an arm until it fell off.

Kyoko squirmed uneasily at the sudden show of violence from such a passive-looking, impassive-sounding young boy. Really, the child couldn't have been more than in his early teens, and his baggy white clothing made him look even younger, sleeves dwarfing his small deft hands. "Why did this L send you?" she asked finally, watching Near stare at his half-finished puzzle as he twisted a lock of his hair around one finger.

Near looked up for the first time, honestly surprised by the question; dark eyes met Kyoko's turquoise ones, and his hand fell, the maligned lock of hair sticking out from his head at an odd angle like a tiny spring. "Because if anyone can solve this case, it's me," he admitted without a trace of arrogance: the scholar merely recited a fact. "After all, I'm number one."

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

"Clair, your wife's dead!" Giovanni banged the kitchen door open with such force that the young don jumped, nearly spilling his plate of food. "Or—I mean—oh, damn..."

"What??" Clair yelped; several members of the kitchen staff echoed his cry, then blushed and vacated the kitchen. It was bad enough that Vampire had chosen to break his fast among them this morning to avoid the crowds of thugs rapidly filling his foyer without their intruding on his personal business the way he'd chosen to force in on theirs.

Breathing haggardly and blinking to ensure he wasn't still half-asleep, Clair rephrased his query a bit more eloquently. "Giovanni. _What_ are you talking about?"

"This." The bodyguard slammed a newspaper down onto the counter on which Clair had positioned himself; the don leaned over, still munching on his waffles, to peruse the article. "One hundred eight convicts and suspects all over the city?" he read aloud, frowning. "All at four in the morning?"

"Dead of heart attacks," Giovanni affirmed, relieving a platter nearby of an already-spread bagel and taking a large, sloppy bite. "That's why none of the Board came out in person. They're still in shock and don't want to appear in public, but they want your opinion."

"And a wife factors into this equation...how?" Clair raised a single eyebrow, a trick he'd been practicing in front of the mirror since he was a small child but which he had only recently perfected. "I don't see the connection."

"She's the connection," the bodyguard sighed heavily, jabbing a cream-cheese-smeared finger at the paper. "Lara Rinseko."

"As in Rinseko the giant on the Board?" Clair laughed shortly. "Spotface has a daughter? She must be the ugliest thing..."

"Was," Giovanni corrected wearily. "She was one of the hundred and eight."

"So we send flowers and move on. Now what could have..."

"Vampire, I didn't want to keep this from you; I didn't even know until about a month ago and it's been killing me..." Giovanni paused, swallowed a hunk of bagel and licked his thumb. "Mauro probably wouldn't want me to tell you even now. But your old man set up something you should know about."

At the mention of his father, Clair's throat constricted and he set his half-finished plate aside. Nothing that began with the phrase "your old man," "the former Vampire", or any variation thereof ever ended with conclusions he deemed satisfactory. What was worse, a sense of guilt always soured his distaste even further in such matters, nineteen years of nearly slaving loyalty to the man burned deep into his values even as his opinions shouted to be let free of the cage that had been Lorenzo Leonelli's staunch conservatism. He loved his father better than he loved himself, longed to prove himself to the man even now, months after the old don had passed away, yet he also struggled to rid himself of the feeling of constant disapproval dogging his every step.

"What did Papa arrange, Giovanni?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as it forced its way through dry lips, around the silver ring he'd purchased much to that man's chagrin in his only great act of rebellion while his father still drew breath.

The bodyguard sighed again. "Well, he figured you'd balk, so he set it up without telling you. Ever wonder how he won the support of the others on the board?"

Clair shrugged. "Not really. Wasn't he superhuman?" The casual sarcasm lacked barbs, hitting too close to his actual conception of his father's power over others. Papa had been extraordinary...and Clair, all his life, had been below par.

"Are you taking this seriously or not?" Shaking his head, Giovanni took the plunge. "Well, nobody could ever accuse your old man of not thinking far ahead. He won Rinseko over by promising that the man's grandson would be Vampire. You connect the dots."

Clair's mind blanked, and for several long moments he gaped like a stunned fish. "And when," he eventually managed to say, "was he planning on telling me?" A grin twitched onto his face; his shoulders shook. Oh, this was just like his father. This was _exactly_ the sort of stunt he'd fallen victim to over and over again through the years. The family came first. Everything else, like his feelings, didn't matter—no, didn't exist. "Was Mauro going to hit me over the head and take me trussed up to the chapel—like a present for his business partner--" The imagery made him laugh despite himself. It was so much easier to conjure up bizarre visions and laugh at them than deal with the actual facts. Gasping, he laughed so hard his ribs began to hurt and he had to squeeze his lilac-colored eyes shut.

Giovanni waited for the fit to pass before answering. "The night before the wedding. Which was set for your twentieth birthday. Problem is, the board still wants you to get hitched then."

"But the girl's dead," Clair pointed out breathlessly, wiping eyes he told himself were teary from mirth and not any other factor. Other emotions were beginning to seep through cracks in his armor, and he didn't feel like dealing with them at present—likely, he never would.

"That's why it's a problem." Giovanni shoved his hands in his pockets, turned away. "They want you to find a fiancee by the time you turn twenty. These heart attacks made them jumpy, and any bases they can cover in securing their futures, they want to. And keeping the Leonellis in charge looks a lot more appealing now that somebody's after criminals. Better you than them."

"That's two months," objected Clair dismissively, clamping an inner lid down on the outraged feelings of betrayal threatening to blow forth at any moment. "Even if I wanted to find a wife—which I don't—that' s not enough time. Besides, they're still crooks, and something like this has to be a freak--"

"One hundred and eight people at exactly the same time from exactly the same cause?" Giovanni countered. "And as for finding the lady..."

"I can count the women I know on two hands, the ones I like with none. End of discussion. Tell all the men out there to go home. I have nothing to say to them." Clair picked up his plate of food, now cold, and shoveled a huge bite into his mouth. The clump stuck together and to the roof of his mouth, making him gag.

Swallowing hard and staring at the plate, with one decisive motion he picked it up and hurled it with all his might at the wall, where it shattered, sending shards of china and strings of syrup crashing and splattering everywhere. "Damn it!" he yelled, kicking the drawers under the counter and not caring when his toes protested being bashed against a hardwood surface. "Damn it, damn it, damn it...how could he, how could he ever even _think_...using me like that...without a word...and you _let_ him!" Grabbing Giovanni's lapels, he began to beat against the man's broad torso with his other fist, tearless sobs racking his own chest. "You and Mauro and everybody else...you aren't supposed to keep secrets from me...Vampire...you're supposed to respect me, you're supposed to _care_--"

"Easy. Easy. You'll hurt yourself." The tall man took his employer by the wrists, forced the boy's arms to his sides, then held him close. "I care. I wasn't in on it until a month ago. Take it easy, Vampire. I hate it too. It's not fair. But it's life. Lots of stuff happens all the damn time to people who don't deserve it for reasons no one understands."

Clair was not in the mood for platitudes, especially from his best-friend-turned-sudden-traitor. "Let me go, Giovanni," he ordered, trying to squirm free even as a part of him wanted to collapse against the man—more of a father or at least a brother to him than his blood relatives ever had been—and bawl his eyes out like a spoiled child. _Papa didn't trust me...Papa kept things from me about my future...Papa wanted to be sure I'd keep the family going but couldn't rely on me..._

"What, and let you set fire to the place by crashing around? No thank you. My hair's just started growing back, I don't want it getting singed off." In a bout of who-knew-what just before the military coup which had, ironically, helped return Clair to power as Vampire, the bodyguard had given himself a mohawk; his employer had given him a hard time about it ever since the city had become safe enough to afford time for jokes once more.

Brokenly Clair let himself smile. "You don't trust me, Giovanni?" he asked, innocent yet dangerous in the same instant. "Of course you don't. You still knew for a month..."

"Oh, Clair." Dropping the young don's title, the bodyguard hugged the boy to himself—to restrain him or to comfort him, Clair couldn't be certain. "Don't do this. Please. I know you're strong. You can get past all this, I know you can."

"Giovanni..." Almost plaintively, he met the man's eyes. No malice or hidden agendas stared back, and finding no enemy against which to rail Clair crumpled. "I won't do it," he mumbled, deciding the man's hold on him was a hug and thus letting himself be held. "I won't give in. I'll find whatever caused the heart attacks, but I won't get married. Not just because they want me to. I don't want some woman I barely know running around my house, poking through my stuff...moving into my space...sleeping in my...just to get an heir..."

"Admirable," came a wry, arrogant voice outside the door, and both men started. Snapping out of reverie immediately, Giovanni pushed Clair behind him and drew his guns from his shoulder holsters, cocking them. For his own part, indignant at being overheard during a moment of weakness and doubly ashamed of himself for breaking down in the first place, Clair rummaged through drawers until he found a large kitchen knife and pulled it out. He'd teach whoever had dared to trespass not to sneak up on Vampire of Company Vita.

The person outside just laughed at the sound of the two men preparing for battle; a wrapper crinkled, and when he next spoke his voice was muffled, like he too was eating something. "Relax. I'm all for everything you want—can help you with it, in fact. Didn't you wonder why Iwanami sent men today when he's been rotting for months?"

"I noticed some faces," Giovanni drawled, scowling. "Step in here with your hands up."

A low laugh drifted through the door. "I don't know about that. It sounds a little hostile in there."

"Who are you?" Clair demanded, watching the light play off the knife's blade with one eye while keeping the other fixed on the door. "What do you want?"

"I'm the only member of your Board who isn't a spineless coward," replied the trespasser smugly. "When old man Iwanami got himself killed he left quite a nice pocket for some new blood to wriggle in. Now, how serious are you about stopping the heart attacks?"

"Get in here or we'll come out," ordered Clair. "And you don't want that to happen."

"Hands up and empty," Giovanni added; the person outside the door sighed.

"You're persuasive. Fine. But only if you swear you'll help me stop the heart-attack killer. Otherwise I'll just saunter away, and one of my men might have a little accident with his firearm around your assistant, if you catch my meaning."

"You're threatening _me_?" Clair asked in disbelief, but all other comments died on his lips as the intruder wedged his way through the doors and kicked them shut behind him with one booted foot. Flat, jet-black eyes met Clair's underneath a curtain of blond hair, curling around a pale derisive face in an oddly feminine way; the trespasser's gloved hands were indeed in the air and empty, but to compensate for the order he had a bar of chocolate clamped firmly between his teeth. His clothes were black as his eyes and tight-fitting; a rosary swung from around his neck, and a bracelet adorned his right wrist. His entire demeanor screamed rebellion, danger, and unpredictability.

He also couldn't have been much older than Clair.


	2. Gamble, Impertinence

If you think I own either Death Note or Heat Guy J, you must not be thinking very hard. Were I to possess either franchise, this story would be published in a format whence I would be receiving royalties.

**Chapter.02: -GAMBLE- (Impertinence)**

He didn't like the winter air. Even if it never got particularly cold, it dried out his skin, and that irritated him. And if he was irritated, he was distracted—his least favorite mental state of all.

Scratching one denim-clad leg with the bare foot attached to the other, the rumpled young man stared down at his computer on the floor and frowned. Did the culprit have access to more information than he had thought? On a whim, he'd sent Near to deal with the heart-attack case, more to assuage his own anxieties about the possible connections between several deaths than because he thought the boy needed practice—and then one hundred and eight victims had met their ends.

Were he free, he would have taken the case himself; but the police had earlier asked him to deal with a serial bomber and he had acquiesced out of boredom. Now he found himself wishing he'd kept his schedule open for this new challenge. It looked like an interesting one.

One long-fingered hand reached for his telephone; then he retracted it, bit his thumb instead. Let Near handle the case alone, he reminded himself. No benefits would be earned from the experience if every other second he was feeding his own theories into the young boy's head. Near was perfectly capable of solving the case without assistance, and even if he wasn't...

He wondered what his other young subordinate would think, were he ever to discover his superior had known the boy had tapped Near's phone. Why the blond boy had chosen to storm out of the orphanage four years ago, the young man had never been able to discover despite his remarkable deductive skills; but he'd kept close tabs on his potential heir's movements ever since. That the boy had succeeded in his chosen field came as no surprise. What mildly stunned the young man was the venue in which his former apprentice's interests apparently lay. He'd known the boy was reckless, but the _mafia_? Boys in training to become great detectives didn't commonly run off to lead lives of extravagant crime.

Extravagant crime...hmm. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes widened even further as his brain pieced bits of information together; reaching for the phone again, he dialed a number and held it to his ear, dangling the handset from the tips of his fingers.

"Detective Edmundo?" he asked. "It's L. I'm ninety point three percent certain I've solved the bombing case. Be alone in your apartment at five o'clock sharp. I shall call you again with all the details." Hanging up, he helped himself to a piece of the half-sliced cake sitting on his low coffee table and clambered into an armchair to enjoy his snack, tucking his knees up under his chin and curling his toes around the edge of the cushion. Well, that was one case solved, and now he was free again. Just after he'd willingly surrendered the first tricky case in years to someone else.

Even the great L, it seemed, could fall victim to irony.

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

After her initial dialogue with the boy, as the morning wore on Kyoko couldn't discern any noticeable differences between working with Near and working with Daisuke: both seemed perfectly content, while she busily typed and filed away at her desk, to lounge on the couch and watch television.

"That's interesting," Near commented, flat on his stomach and knocking two robots together halfheartedly as the reporter on the news read off a sampling of the crimes the recent heart-attack victims had committed. "Is there a way to get complete criminal records for all the victims?"

Kyoko looked at J, who replied, "I have access to the entire police database. It will be simple for me to type and print a list for you. Will names and crimes suffice?"

"If you can bring the database itself up on the computer, I'd prefer that," Near answered, yanking the heads off his models and swapping them. "I suspect the killer has access to the same sources and want to see exactly what he can."

At first, Near's offhand tone hid the accusation he was making, but once she realized what the boy was saying Kyoko's head jerked up. "Are you saying the _police_ are behind this? How can you jump to a conclusion like that just from what these people did?" She'd become accustomed to Daisuke's infamous hunches and learned to tolerate them only because they had usually been proven right. It seemed too large a coincidence in her eyes for her new coworker to possess the same near-psychic intuition.

Near barely glanced at her before replying, padding over to the computer where J had pulled up the records for him, heedless of the playthings he stepped on in the process. He did not sit so much as huddle in the chair, upon reaching it. "I never mentioned the police, only someone with access to police information, which as the machine here has just displayed is not as protected as the majority would like to believe.

"As for the second question, while the crimes committed were certainly reprehensible, very few of them seem to have been for the perpetrator's benefit alone. The great majority were committing criminal acts for someone else's sake, be it an employer, a family member, or to procure funds to repay a debt. To me, that seems like a warning to the people who dispatched them, but aside from that, because these fairly small crimes were committed by fairly anonymous individuals, very few were ever reported and even fewer were severely punished. The killer probably wants everyone to figure out the warning symbol, but if he is used to being well-informed in all sorts of crimes he may not have realized he is providing a clue to his identity by using heretofore unknown criminals."

He scratched his head idly and began scrolling down the records. "Of course, there is also a great chance the killer is fully cognizant of all the clues he is sending and means for any persons attempting to discover his identity to arrive at such a conclusion. Though I cannot see what good that does him." Turning his full attention to the computer screen, he fell silent.

Kyoko watched him read for several long moments, trying to figure out for herself why someone with access to police records would _want_ the police to become aware of the fact, but as her eyes landed on the clock in the corner of her computer screen she jolted out of her reverie. "Oh! Near, it's time for our lunch break."

"I see." He remained, however, firmly planted in front of the computer.

Kyoko, standing, fidgeted awkwardly. It was the boy's first day, and she wanted to do something to make him feel at home...but he had already settled in quite well, it seemed. If anything was out of place in the office, it was her. Gathering her courage, she vowed to fix this displacement.

"Near, I'm going out to get my lunch. Would you like to come?" she asked, picking up her purse and checking to make sure she had enough money to cover them both. "I know some very nice places in the area."

"No thank you." He slumped over even further in the chair, balled up in a tight white bundle on the seat.

Kyoko, however, was determined to become friends whether her new colleague wanted to or not. "Are you sure? We could listen to see what other people are saying about the case."

"Other people aren't any help. Not even the police can handle something this odd."

"You shouldn't say things like that about people you've never met, Near. You could be missing out on some great friendships," Kyoko pointed out, trying not to let too much of her own frustration seep into the words.

Apparently she met with less success than she'd hoped, because Near gave her an empty yet knowing stare from beneath his white curls; but then to her surprise he unfolded himself and stood, though his posture still left much to be desired. Shuffling to the door, he stuffed his feet into his shoes. "Very well. If you wish to become my friend, I will let you. But this is the only time. I do not like showing my face in public."

"No one will know who you are," Kyoko promised awkwardly, shooting a desperate glance at J. The android, however, did not know what was expected of him and remained silent, save for promising as always to guard the room while its human occupants were away. Kyoko thanked him as was her usual custom and led Near out of the room, already wondering where in the city she could take the boy that might actually meet with his approval.

It wasn't until she and her pale companion had exited the elevator and were on their way across the lobby that her eyes landed on the woman waiting for her, and she groaned. She'd forgotten in the strangeness of the morning that her lunchtime had already been monopolized.

"Near, I'm so sorry," she said. "I forgot to tell you someone will be joining us."

"You mean you forgot you already had a lunch date," Near corrected flatly, and the woman running up to Kyoko gave a little gasp of surprise.

"Kyoko, who is this--"

"He's called Near, and he's filling in for Daisuke," Kyoko replied wearily, missing the cocky agent more than ever. "Near, meet my mother."

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

"Happy?" the blond young man asked around his chocolate bar, hands still in the air as Clair and Giovanni sized him up. Catching the look the bodyguard shot him, the young don nodded once, slightly, and Giovanni gestured with the barrel of his gun.

"You can put your hands down now, kid. But no sudden movements."

"Gotcha." He took hold of his chocolate, removing it from his mouth but ripping off a huge chunk of candy in the process. "Got a minute to talk, Vampire?"

Clair shrugged; if this boy could play casual, then so could he. It was bad enough the boy had defeated him at dressing down—while no one could accuse Clair of being a sloppy dresser, he always made a point of being attired at least one notch more casually than his subordinates, the intended message being he didn't _need_ to look his part, whereas his associates hid behind their suits. To counter the boy's brash attitude with stiff formality would imply a need to protect himself with an officious manner. Vampire required no such masks.

Besides, anything was better than meeting the mob—in two senses of the word—awaiting him in the foyer, with the demands they were bound to make that he was not prepared to accept. "Looks that way," he replied, glancing around as if to search for a hidden queue of supplicants anyway. "But don't get too comfortable, Mr...why, you haven't even told me your name." He scratched his face absently, displaying the knife still held in his hand. "That won't do."

The boy's dark eyes darted back and forth as well, except his motion seemed to be in earnest and not a joke. "Mello," he replied brusquely. "My name's Mello."

Clair's face darkened. "Aliases are fine outside of my presence," he informed the boy, "but if you want to join my game you have to prove you trust me." It was a bluff; for all he knew, the names he had on file for his other colleagues were just as fake as some of the other monikers under which he knew they operated, but if that were the case they had covered the lies much more completely. What was the kid, an idiot? "One more chance. What's your name?"

The boy grinned. "What, you don't believe me? Fine. My real name's Nate River. Still, everybody calls me Mello." He took a long lick along the side of his chocolate bar, looked down at the young don with his head tilted upwards and his pale gold hair swinging down to brush the sides of his neck lightly. "Because I'm so laid-back."

"Then we'll get along fine," Clair replied, putting down the knife—though not out of easy grabbing distance. "If you're laid-back, I'm easy to please."

Giovanni made a sound resembling a cross between a snort and a cough, and Clair flicked irritated eyes his way. Years of service in the line of fire, and his best man still couldn't pull off a poker face.

"Shall we cut straight to the point?" Mello interjected, finishing his chocolate bar and shoving the wrapper in his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he held a wad of bills, which he tossed at Clair. The don caught the bundle smartly, opened it, and counted.

"First tribute payment?" he asked; the other boy shook his blond head.

"First three, plus interest. I missed a couple payoffs, if I'm not mistaken." He grinned again, and Clair felt a thrill of excitement jolt into his system; finally, someone to deal with that might actually prove to be a challenge. Oh, this would be a good game.

Doing some mental math, he slid the money into his own pocket. "It's satisfactory, for now. You have Vita's protection, but the Board position is debatable. This company demands far more than just money should outsiders seek full membership. It's a dangerous world we live in, as I'm sure you know."

Mello tilted his head in Giovanni's direction. "I kind of figured that. But we still aren't talking business. I'd think you would want to, Vampire. It's in your best interest. Why don't you hear me out and then decide if you can trust me with that Board position?"

"Earlier you claimed Iwanami's seat was already yours," Clair objected. "Retracting your statement?" Outwardly, his face radiated scorn for the mistake the boy had made; inside, he gloried in his victory. He'd tricked his opponent, gotten the other young man to back up a few steps. The farther a distance the don could impose before pulling the boy close at his own pace, the better.

Scowling, Mello sulked and pulled out a new chocolate bar. "If you insist."

Clair smiled, leaned back on the counter, his eyebrows arched in interest. "Talk."

"I want to make a deal with you," Iwanami's successor proposed, dispensing entirely with pretense and sucking on the end of his candy bar. "Board power isn't what I'm after, though I'll take it if it can help me. You've heard about the heart-attack killings?" Clair nodded, disappointed that the conversation was heading once again in that direction. "I've got...well, let's say an investment in putting the bastard responsible behind bars—or putting a few slugs in his head—as quickly as possible. With your connections, you must receive news from all over this town. I want your network. I want every scrap of potentially relevant news. And I want it promptly."

"Why?" Clair asked, more to see how the boy would react than out of actual curiosity.

Mello didn't disappoint; his eyes widened and even bugged a little, and he gnawed on the candy with more than his usual ferocity. "I'm trying to beat someone to the finish line," he growled. "That's all I can say. Even to you, Vampire. We all have our secrets."

"Indeed we do, Mr. Brook."

"...River."

"That's what I said. Pay more attention." Clair could see Giovanni's shoulders heave in an aggravated sigh but ignored the tall man's disapproval of his cat-and-mouse game. Mello had hesitated before correcting him; that could mean one of two things. Either he was already afraid of speaking out against Vampire—in which case Clair was impressed with himself and disappointed in the other young man—or the name, though certainly more believable than his earlier offering, was also fake. No point in probing any further for now, though. "I can't afford idiots who don't listen when I'm talking. Now what do I get in return for supplying you with this information?"

Mello grinned. "Word reached me that you're hard-up for bodyguards. I can fix that."

Instantly Clair stiffened. "If I wanted more protection, I would hire my own," he informed the boy. "Giovanni has performed very well by himself. Don't think about sneaking a spy in here and figuring I wouldn't know about it." In reality, he was short two bodyguards, a spy of his own, and a casino manager, but had made no moves over the months to fill the vacant holes. He had Giovanni for personal protection, and Mauro was already heavily involved with the casino's operation. The men he had lost could never be replaced. To attempt seemed somehow disrespectful.

"I don't sneak," Mello objected slyly, though just minutes ago he had been eavesdropping outside the door. "I'm freely admitting that I want to plant my man in your ranks. But he'll serve you well anyway. I can personally vouch for his abilities...but I don't want to force you, either. Why don't we meet later to discuss it, somewhere neither of us can try anything in case you still don't trust me?" Noticing the newspaper lying on the counter, he leaned over Clair to pick it up, a sly little grin tauntingly in place as he stepped back away. Pretending to peruse the paper, he indicated the circled name on the list of victims with a gloved hand made smudgy by melting chocolate. "It would be disrespectful for me, especially as the new boy in town, to fail to attend the viewing for a Board member's daughter, and Vampire certainly will be obligated to make an appearance as well. You talk things over with your men, I'll bring my offering along, and if we reach an agreement he'll just leave in your car instead of mine."

"And what will you and this candidate be doing while I'm making my decision?" Clair challenged almost lazily. "You're giving yourself a lot of time to plan there."

Mello laughed and tossed the paper back on the counter, licking his fingers. "Even if I was sneaking around behind your back, Vampire, which I'm _not_, what have you got to lose from giving me information about this killer or from accepting my man? If something should happen to you on his watch, it's all too obvious who was behind the hit; and I can't imagine you're too crazy about the idea of someone like whoever orchestrated last night running free. He's bad for business in more ways than one."

Clair wondered exactly how much of his conversation with Giovanni Mello had overheard, but quickly decided it didn't matter. The boy would have found out about Lara Rinseko anyway—probably already knew, judging from his choice of rendezvous point. "You have a point," he conceded. "Tomorrow at the viewing, then. But Mr. Brook..."

Mello looked up, an expression of smug, false innocence already drawn across his face, and this time he did not bother correcting the young chairman.

Clair's smile vanished. "Next time, don't make my plans for me. If you're going to work for me, you'll learn your place, or I'll have to wake you up."

Nodding his head in what was most likely the closest thing to a bow Clair would be able to garner from the blond, Mello shook Clair's hand. "Understood. Tomorrow then, Vampire. Enjoy today's meetings." He took one last, sardonic bite of his chocolate bar over his shoulder at the young don, and then slipped out.

Relaxing, Clair put the knife away while Giovanni watched Mello walk down the hall and round the bend, just in case. "I like him," the bodyguard's employer said finally.

"I could tell," Giovanni replied, shutting the door with a gruff, amused sigh. "He was...different."

"He was open," Clair replied caustically, "and I appreciate that." Bending down, he began to rummage through a cabinet under the counter.

"Let the Rinseko thing go, Vampire. Think about what to do next. You still have that whole crowd to face and--"

"I didn't mean it that way...oh, damn."

"What?" Giovanni bent down to see what had agitated the young man.

Clair straightened, thoroughly peeved. "This day is even worse than I thought," he replied, but would offer no actual explanation. "Let's go, Giovanni."

"Whenever you're ready..." The tall man followed his young master out of the kitchen and out towards the foyer, where no less than thirty representatives awaited their Vampire's presence. Licking his lips in annoyance, Clair discovered that not only did he still not have anything to say, but that he would very likely be unable to concentrate on the meeting. On top of all his other problems—mass-murderers out to destroy the company's infrastructure, being disturbed in his private quarters, the sudden pressure of needing a life companion before his twentieth birthday--watching Mello eat had made him want chocolate very, very badly. And his candy cabinet was out of stock.

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

Head bowed over the handheld game around which his hands were curled, Matt hardly noticed that his friend had returned to the car until the door slammed shut and he found his view of the game screen obscured by an empty chocolate wrapper the newcomer had tossed casually into his lap to arrest his attention. "Let's go," Mello ordered brusquely, and Matt, accordingly, saved his game and started the car.

"How'd it go?" he asked, wheeling the vehicle around to pull onto the main road instead of the back way on which they'd been forced to park on account of all the other automobiles cluttering the Leonelli lawn.

Mello shrugged and handed Matt a pack of cigarettes when the younger man gestured for them. "He's a good guy," he said finally. "A very good guy. We've got him, Matt."

Matt fumbled one-handed with his lighter, thinking ruefully that perhaps he should have lit up before getting out on the street. "That's it?" he asked, almost let down. "You corner the most powerful guy in the business and all I get to hear is 'he's a very good guy'? That's leaving me hanging, man."

"Don't say stuff like that," Mello replied grouchily. "And sit up straighter. God, I've gotta get you in shape by tomorrow."

"In shape for what?" Matt didn't like the sounds of that phrase one little bit. "C'mon, you met _Vampire_! What was he like?"

"You'll know better than me, soon enough," Mello said, staring moodily out the car window and slouching in his seat despite his criticism of his friend's posture. "But I...Matt, if I'd known he was going to be like that I'd have contacted Vita months ago."

"That's not enough, either. Have some pity. I got sick of hearing you bitch about the kid's luck to have a dad who just _handed_ the company to him, but now I gotta know: was he a sucker because of it like you thought he was gonna be?"

Mello chuckled and rummaged in the glove compartment for more chocolate. "Oh, I walked all over him, all right, but not because he was stupid. He _listened_ to me, Matt. He listened, and he weighed, and he came to the same conclusions as I did. I thought he was going to be some sap, getting to the top like that without even trying..."

"I heard you the first thousand times, you know."

"...but I can't hate the guy, Matt. I want to, I should, but I can't." Laughing, Mello slapped his friend's back, and laughed even harder when Matt jumped in surprise. "Near doesn't stand a chance now!"

Smiling reflectively, he flicked his gaze up and down Matt's clothes. "And you need to find yourself a tux by tomorrow. I think I landed you a job."

Matt stared at his grinning friend and felt his heart sink. "Am I gonna like it?" he asked, though he had a fair notion of what the answer would be. "Or did you screw me over again?"

Mello told him just as they reached an intersection, and their car nearly rear-ended the delivery truck in front of them. In the driver's seat, Matt railed against the utter unfairness of being used as a bargaining chip and thus sold to a kid he didn't know, but Mello tuned all the complaints out. His mind wasn't on the present, or even on the bright future he could already see unrolling itself at his feet.

Instead he found himself once again reflecting on Clair Leonelli, and try as he might he could not keep a smile off his lips. In his dealings with the intruder, the kid had been impertinent, openly arrogant, toying, smug...fun. And Mello's life hadn't been fun in a long, long time.

He looked forward to seeing what the boy would do next.


	3. Successor, Tremble

This chapter is most definitely not my best work, and I apologize. Things seem to be falling into place after this, however, so please bear with this one and stick with me.

I continue to not own things. Currently, my lawyers are in a heated battle to rectify this unfortunate circumstance...or at least, they would be if I had any lawyers.

**Episode.03: -SUCCESSOR- (Tremble)**

The young man locked his door, drifted listlessly over to his desk chair, and sat down heavily, head in his hands. Intrigued, the creature came up behind him and asked what was the matter.

"Nothing," the young man replied. "Two days, and...nothing. No statement from the police, no reports of detectives in the police records, no paper trail at all. I can't tell what their next move is going to be, though there's no doubt in my mind they're moving. Wouldn't that worry you, in my place? I don't know what they're planning, and thus I can't progress."

Scowling, he dropped both fists onto the desk with such force the pencils lying to one side skittered across the wood surface. "Damn! They've trapped me already!"

The creature cocked its head. "By doing nothing? That's pretty smart of them. But there's got to have been at least _some_ reaction."

The young man laughed derisively, but even the scorn resonating from his voice couldn't hide his excitement. "Oh, there's a reaction, all right, and it's just what I expected. I can't walk down the street without hearing people talking about it. Sure, they all denounce what's been going on, but it's obvious they're lying. The mob's been running this city long enough, Ryuk. It's time someone took a stand and proved that the people don't need anyone controlling them from the shadows. No, if they really need a god to turn to and control things for them, they should be able to turn to someone with justice, not personal gain, on his mind."

The creature laughed, a guttural _hyuk_ing sound that made the young man's skin prickle. "Of course," it consented. "No personal gain on his mind at all."

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Opening his morning newspaper, Mauro sipped his tea and peered at the headlines over the rims of his tiny dark-lensed glasses. The heart-attack killer had struck for the second day in a row, this time claiming only thirteen victims. Again, however, all had died at four in the morning. The advisor was pleased to note that this time, not a single victim had direct ties to the Leonelli family. A death in the Family might mean someone would have to be brought in to replace the fallen, and after his discussion with Vampire the previous day he had begun to have serious doubts about his employer's ability to hire the right sorts of people.

"Trust me, Mauro," the young man had said, smiling one of the wild grins the older man had learned over time to automatically _dis_trust. "I have a good feeling about this guy."

Mauro supposed he had no right to defame any candidate Clair deemed worthy of filling Ian and Mitchal's position; the empty slots in the employment roster had been near-enshrined in the young don's mind, an eternal vacancy in honor of those who must never be forgotten. Personally, Mauro was all too glad to see the positions filled at last; seeing the empty space by Clair's side where once two young, promising men had stood only served to remind him of his own disgraceful role in carving that hole in the ranks.

Such thoughts pained him, so he turned back to his paper, the day's itinerary running through his mind as he read editorials about the role "Kira", as the evening news had christened the murderer, might possibly play in cleaning up Judoh in the troubled present times. After breakfast, he and his young master were to run down a list of possible wives to familiarize Clair with the names prior to attending Lara Rinseko's viewing, where no doubt more names would be dropped for the list. Respect for the dead was all very proper, but there was business to conduct, and everyone wanted a tie to Vampire.

Personally, Mauro loathed the money-grubbing thoughtlessness of the other board members; in Lorenzo Leonelli's time, fear of and respect for the man had kept their more animal natures in check, civilized them and imbued them with honor. Now Lorenzo had died, and the animals bared their fangs again, yet somehow their new master managed to keep their claws and teeth in check.

At least Clair did not seem preoccupied with mercenary matters alone—in fact, Mauro often found himself wishing Vampire would be a bit _more_ frugal and cautious. Not that the young man would be listening, should problems arise today. After discovering the engagement Mauro had taken such pains to disguise, the boy had denounced him in nearly every way possible. For all Mauro knew, his young master was _still_ sulking. The only time the don had seemed to be in a good mood was when he'd thought over that unexpected supplicant, Nate River, and his unorthodox requests.

Tired of reading self-important columnists denouncing the very criminal enterprise that funded the newspaper (Vita held considerable stock in this particular publishing company), the aging man turned the page and sighed, reaching in his coat pocket for a handkerchief to mop his brow. Another expose about the corruption in Echigo Group. Soon enough, the media would discover the rotten streak reached all the way to the top, and Serge Echigo's death would at last be made public. Most of the select few privileged enough to know the truth considered it a minor miracle the whole thing hadn't been exposed during Shun Aurora's trial; Mauro had worked for the Leonelli family too long to believe in miracles anymore.

He did believe in coincidence—the marvelous coincidence that, the day before Shun stood trial, the man's lawyer spent the afternoon playing cards with Clair Leonelli. Young Master liked to bet unorthodox items—a vow of silence here, a promise of recompense for services paid there. It wasn't the usual way to get things done, but the affair had been muffled rather nicely and thus the infrastructure of Judoh remained safe for another day. Echigo Group had grown too much for its own good; should its assets plummet, the city would follow soon after.

So Judoh owed its continued stability to the very organization this Kira now sought to intimidate. Mauro wished he could appreciate the irony, but the company's prospects were so bleak he couldn't even manage a wry smile. He couldn't even remember the last time he had smiled. What had sobered him so?

"Oh. _You're_ up." Clair, still in his robe and slippers, stood testily in the doorway. "Get out. I want to sit."

The dining room table could seat twenty. Mauro stood out of respect for his young master but made no move to remove his personal effects. "There is room enough for both of us, Young Master. I will be leaving shortly enough. Please be seated. I have some things to discuss with you..."

"I don't want to hear them. Give me the paper." Sitting, Clair accepted the object and spread it before him as a maid scuttled off to fetch him his breakfast. "None of ours kicked it last night?" he asked; Mauro nodded his assent, sitting once more. "Good." Falling silent, Clair frowned at the editorials; the words "idiot trash" formed on his lips but he did not speak.

"Young Master..." Mauro began after finishing his tea; the youth in question did not respond, stony silence speaking for itself. He _was_ still bitter over the previous day's revelations. "Before the viewing, there are a few matters you must attend to..."

At the word "viewing," Clair's already pale face blanched considerably, and he set the newspaper down. "It can all wait, Mauro, whatever it is."

The maid returned with Clair's breakfast, and as she served the young man Mauro tried to win him over. "But Young Master! Company Vita's board members will likely be there in person, and you cannot hope to console them with platitudes the way you dispatched their messengers yesterday. We must come up with a plan of action to secure you a bride, or they will..."

"They'll what?" Clair interrupted listlessly, picking at the eggs on his plate. "This is the second time in two days you've ruined my breakfast with this talk, Mauro, and yesterday you weren't even _there_. I don't want to discuss this until I've decided what to do about it myself. Do you understand me?"

"But when are you planning on arriving at this decision, Young Master? The Board will not want to wait!"

"They'll wait if I say so." Sipping his juice gingerly, Clair cast a sickly glance at his plate and stood. "I'm not hungry. Tell Giovanni to come to my room half an hour before we have to leave to help me prepare." Pushing in his chair behind him, he shuffled out the door whence he had entered only minutes before.

Retrieving his paper, Mauro shook his head again, now even more worried. He'd known the prospect of choosing the woman with whom the boy would spend his adult life was bound to disgust his employer, but he had not expected such downheartedness. Then, on second thought, he realized it was not the notion of selecting a wife that had so affected the young man, at least this morning. It had been the mention of the viewing.

Lara Rinseko, not her fiance, had fallen victim to the mysterious murderer known only as "Kira." Yet her would-be husband, Mauro reflected with a touch of pity, had also for one hollow moment resembled a corpse.

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

The machine known as J had been operational for over three years, and in that span of time his AI had assimilated and made sense of a wide variety of human emotions and responses. Most of the data he'd been able to gather had resulted from watching his partner, Daisuke, interact with the Special Unit's young secretary-auditor, Kyoko Milchan; their conversations were almost always lively, and J had processed over the years enough information about Kyoko that he thought he could accurately predict her behaviors at least eighty if not ninety percent of the time.

He'd been considering himself one hundred percent accurate until one of the factors in the equation changed. Daisuke had left for parts unknown, and in his place this new young man, "Near", had been inserted. And that had thrown off all his calculations entirely.

J had first begun to suspect that this new change would affect far more than originally expected upon the pair's return from lunch on Near's first day of work. When they had left, the atmosphere surrounding them had not been nearly as casual as the one that existed between the young woman and Daisuke, but even that slight stiffness was relaxation itself compared to the storms brewing afterwards. Kyoko had strode briskly back to her desk, sat herself down with ramrod-straight, bristling posture, and typed like a woman possessed until closing time. For his part, Near ignored her, preferring to browse through the police database with a frown on his face and a building-blocks set in his hand.

The next morning, things had not improved very much.

"Clean up after yourself, please," Kyoko requested as, striding into the room, she gingerly picked her way across the various playthings Near had strewn across the office floor. Near barely shot her a glance, zooming a model plane around his head.

"You look cute, angel," J told her belatedly, predicting that the compliment might help alleviate the tension somewhat. It hardly registered with Kyoko, however.

"Thank you, J," she replied listlessly; then, considering, turned to Near. "You see, Near? J makes it a point to be polite."

"J is a programmable machine," Near replied, his nose nearly touching the computer monitor as he studied something. "Manners have nothing to do with his behavior."

"Still," Kyoko objected, shuffling some papers into a pile and tapping the ends against the desk to straighten them, "it's the idea of the thing. The concept, if you will."

Near sighed. "Are you going to be this irascible until I apologize? I will if it will improve your productivity. You accomplished surprisingly little yesterday." Shaking his head, he removed a few small pieces from his model plane and dropped them carelessly on the ground.

A red flush spread across Kyoko's cheeks. "I—I--Near, try to understand how I feel, please. Wouldn't you be hurt if someone talked to your mother like that? You really hurt her feelings, Near. I know her opinions of Ex-General Manager Aurora aren't the usual ones, but still..."

"I couldn't say," Near answered matter-of-factly. "My mother abandoned me on the steps of an orphanage when I was a little over a year old. I don't even remember her face. All I have is the name she gave me, and now I don't even use that." He tore a wing off his plane. "Does that answer satisfy your curiosity about my background sufficiently?"

For a few moments, Kyoko didn't speak, staring at the boy with her mouth slightly open. "Near, I..." she finally said. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Why would I be harmed?" Near's fingers slowly worked the tail fin loose. "If anyone is in danger, it is your mother, should she continue to endorse Shun Aurora to total strangers. That kind of attitude implies a hazardous level of gullibility. Though I suppose I do have something to apologize for. I let my personal feelings influence the harshness of my response. Please ask your mother to forgive me."

"Well, I know she got kind of taken in by his charisma and is still a bit in denial, but...your personal feelings?" No longer cold or distant, Kyoko melted into a puddle of concern for the boy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I suppose I do owe you an explanation." Near swiveled himself around in his chair. "About a month before the coup, my superior approached the city director through a proxy about some suspicions he had come to harbor about Shun Aurora, based on observations of the man's near-perfect communications network and stand on various pieces of legislation. But because he had no concrete proof Aurora was planning anything, the director ignored him and the whole disaster was allowed to occur just as predicted. Through my superior's failure to provide proof, the entire city was jeopardized. He has never forgotten it, nor have I. That is why I am grateful to have been placed on this case. It is far too important to leave to someone like him." He turned back around. "I believe that is all you need to know about my motivation. Now come here. I have noticed the following curious trends in the victims..."

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Feeling his palms grow sweaty, Clair tried to wipe them off on the pants of his best suit without anyone noticing and hoped the moisture wouldn't leave marks. The last time he'd worn this suit he'd gotten grass stains all over it, and developing a reputation for slovenliness would just be ridiculous. All around him, what could only be described as "Vampire's court" was in session; even Rinseko, whose daughter lay in state at the other end of the room, had come over to pay his respects and express his extreme gratitude to the young man for attending, pressing a fold of bills into the boy's hand as he did so. The gesture was not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the rest of the attendees, and soon the young don found his pockets veritably stuffed with cash.

Clair was used to the constant tributes after years attending such public functions; what mattered, he knew, was not the amount donated but how much more than the other people present one bequeathed to the leader...or the leader's children. Even now, it felt like he was still receiving handouts to improve the givers' standing in the eyes of his father.

His father: now _there_ was a topic he would have been better off avoiding. He hadn't worried about living up to the man's standards since shortly after the coup—the now-unwavering loyalty of the Board and Mauro's personal approval of his leadership had assuaged his mind for the present on that count—but some facts could not be reasoned away. And the fact that Rinseko had chosen the exact same funeral home for his daughter as Lorenzo had been presented in—that the young woman lay in state in the very room where the don once had—was unavoidable. Hell, Clair was even wearing the same _suit_!

Enough, then. Swallowing, Clair forced the memories out of his mind and the bile down his throat and shakily approached the casket where the young woman lay, surrounded by flowers. He could almost see his father lying there, so still, so more at peace than he ever had been in life, mouth seemingly shut forever against uttering condemnations against his son. For a moment, he remembered, when that idea had first occurred to him he had been _glad_—glad his father had died...

Well, the man's death hadn't stopped the pressure, and he hadn't even been glad that long. Dragging up the past because of a string of either coincidences or the gall of a Board member was stupid. The only thing to do now was focus on the current situation and face the present to scare away the past. Steeling himself, he looked into the casket.

She wasn't as ugly as he would have predicted from looking at her spot-faced slab of a father. In fact, Clair could almost see—almost—how she could be considered attractive, though under most circumstances he never bothered noticing such things. There was something particularly nice about her hairstyle, chin-length and curled childishly in towards her face. Someone else he knew had that hair, didn't they? Who?...Never mind. It didn't matter.

Still, looking at the girl made his stomach turn. He could definitely remember where he'd last seen that waxy pallor—not only in a casket so like this one, but also in a gruesome delivery to his house...how could he stand here, appraising whether or not he would have minded marrying the girl just from looking at her? She was dead! Though at one time he had thought differently, in his father's quite literal wake he had somehow decided there was something about death that bestowed far more respect than he was appointing this corpse, who at least was being granted the dignity of a proper funeral. The last two people he'd lost hadn't even been given that honor. Mitchal's body had never even been recovered completely...

His vision blurred; clasping a hand to his mouth, Clair stumbled away from the casket and into a pair of surprised but strong arms. Brushing off the man's hold on him and refusing to admit how much he'd appreciated the gesture, the young don shot the interfering party an angry glare for daring to touch him.

"Oh, man," the young man in goggles said, stepping back with a rueful frown. "You look like _shit_."

Clair gaped, trying to come up with a fitting repartee to such an insult, but was spared the bother by Mello, who walked up behind the boy and smacked his red head. "Nice, Matt. Way to make a first impression." Smiling, he turned to Clair with a cocky flick of his long blond hair that made the don realize it was _Mello_ he had thought of when deciding Lara Rinseko wasn't that bad-looking. "Sorry about this idiot, Vampire. You'll have him whipped into shape in no time, I'm sure."

Pointing, Clair asked dryly, "_This_ is the guy you promised me?" The kid couldn't have been much older than he himself was! Plus those green goggles were ridiculous. It was bad enough the was wearing a tuxedo when all the situation called for was a suit—come to think of it, so was Mello, an outrageous black shiny one with red satin lapels—but what possible purpose could the goggles serve? If they contained surveillance programs, it was the most obvious spy equipment the young chairman had ever seen. He had no need for people who chose to be showy for showmanship's sake alone.

Glancing around, Mello leaned in close enough that Clair could smell the chocolate on his breath. "Let's step out for a moment to make the final arrangements. I don't want anyone wondering who I am just yet."

Clair stared pointedly at the garish tuxedo, but Mello ignored him. "You mean you want people to wonder _without_ looking like you're trying to attract attention," Clair corrected in an undertone, glad to at least have something else besides death to think about. "If you really wanted to avoid rumormongering, you wouldn't have dared to suggest meeting Vampire somewhere all the most important members of Vita would almost certainly attend. What are you, some kind of idiot?"

Mello just smirked. "Believe that if you will."

"I'd rather not. I don't do business with idiots."

"Glad to hear it. The hall?"

"Better than in here." With a final glance at the casket, Clair slipped as unobtrusively as possible out of the crowded room, Mello and the supposed bodyguard called Matt following not far behind.

No one noticed them the pair leave, despite the fact that only minutes before all had been keen on attracting Vampire's attention. Instead, everyone's eyes were on one man, one of Rinseko's guards, who had answered his cell phone only to swear violently and scream the number "thirty-nine" in a disbelieving voice. Unpleasant reasons immediately springing to mind, all heads had swiveled in his direction.

Covering the mouthpiece with a hand, the man reported and confirmed all suspicions: Kira had struck again.


	4. Fool, Temptation

Well. I am just as surprised by...certain aspects...of this chapter as you all will likely be. When character bios describe certain characters as "impatient", they certainly aren't kidding...

I own nothing. Which is good. It gives me an ironic sense of freedom.

**Episode.04: -FOOL- (Temptation)**

"Vampire!" Stepping out into the hall, Giovanni found his employer in the throes of a heated argument with the blond young man from before. Suppressing a smirk as he took in the newest addition to the daring upstart's wardrobe, the bodyguard forced his face into a grim expression as Clair turned around.

"Yes, Giovanni?" the young don asked testily, not appreciating the interruption; whatever the argument was about, apparently he'd been winning.

Giovanni coughed. "It's—ahem—Kira, Vampire. He got some of our guys, just now."

"_What_?" Clair stared; next to him, a boy wearing the most ridiculous pair of goggles Giovanni had ever seen swore violently. Mello, for his part, bit his lower lip in thought, and a small smile began to creep onto his face.

"Excellent," the blond replied. "This proves it. Matt, screw the damn funeral. We're setting up the equipment now. Can you skip?" he asked Clair, but didn't bother waiting for an answer. "That was stupid. 'Course you can't. Give me a guy with a key."

Clair indicated Giovanni with a casual drift of his eyes. "He's all yours in a minute. But first...Giovanni, you're sure?"

"Dead sure. Um...no pun." He scratched his head in embarrassment, never liking being the bearer of ill tidings. For starters, it was usually his job to calm Clair back down again, and that often took more time and thought than at the moment he felt capable of donating to the cause. "All at the same time, too. I knew some of them. Good men." Groaning, he adjusted his sunglasses on his face. "Wish I could find this 'Kira' before the cops do."

"Glad to hear it. Help Mello with his equipment, then." Mouth drawn in a thin, contemplative line, Clair turned away for a moment. "...He's playing with me, isn't he?" he asked softly. "He's really trying to make me look helpless...and he's succeeding...we can't have that." Rolling back his shoulders, the young don stood upright, suddenly firm; a wide, manic grin broke over his face. "He'll regret that decision. I don't care what it takes. Mello...I'll go ahead with your plan. See me tomorrow about scheduling your initiation."

"It's all that'll keep me going," Mello drawled, and for a brief moment Giovanni could have sworn the boy was serious. He shivered at the implications. "Guys, let's blow the morgue. Dead people are damn boring anyway."

"You sure about this?" Giovanni muttered to Clair before, as seemed to be expected of him, following the pair down the hall. "I mean, who's the raccoon?"

"That's Matt. Get chummy soon; he's your new partner."

"You sound like them."

"Do I?" For a moment, Clair appeared remarkably thoughtful. "Well, I like them. So even if that's true, it's fine with me." His tone changed, and once more he was all business. "Now go on. I want to get this information network set up as soon as possible so Mello can catch Kira for me. It won't be any fun until then."

"Sure thing, Vampire." Stuffing a hand in his pocket, Giovanni tried to walk casually down the hall after the two others. He tried to tell himself that the nervousness he felt was only due to the shadow of Kira and nothing more, but it didn't work.

He had no illusions about Kira being stupid enough to try and kill Clair, knowing as the criminal must the way the mob would hunt him down. There were other factors in the equation, however, who posed a much more immediate and reckless threat.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Clair reentered the viewing parlor to behold total chaos. Some members of the Company spoke frantically to subordinates on cell phones; others conversed hush-voiced in small groups; still others simply stared at the walls or at the silent body of the young lady lying in state, the words "There but for the grace of God..." almost visible on their lips. It disgusted the young don.

"Mauro, rally those idiots," he ordered offhandedly as the advisor rushed to his side. "I need to speak to all of them."

As it turned out, the older man didn't have to do anything; the minute Clair opened his mouth all eyes, pleadingly, were on him. In response to his subordinates' eager, guidance-seeking stares, the young man shrugged nonchalantly.

"People die every day," he commented. "No one ever said this life was a pretty business. But what sets this case apart--" his eyes steeled over and his brows drew together "--is that an outsider is targeting us. Infighting is stupid and pointless, but can be worked around. But something like this cannot and will never be tolerated, as long as I am Vampire. This means war.

"That's why I don't blame Rinseko here for the way he arranged this little gathering today," Clair continued, warming to his audience and gesturing to the indicated man. "Surely everyone must have noticed the parallels between this occasion and one a few months ago? I believe some of you found it quite...explosive afterwards." He giggled, remembering the one high point of that funeral with fondness, but quickly sobered again. "If it weren't for the way Lara Rinseko died I'd have punished him for daring to draw a connection between his daughter and my father."

This was good, this was exciting; he liked their eager stares and the way Rinseko couldn't speak out against him as long as he kept talking. He'd never given a speech that wasn't short and to the point before and found himself rather enjoying the experience. At first he'd been reluctant to provide a diversion for Mello and Matt to sneak away and begin surveillance before Mauro could oppose the plan, but in retrospect he decided public oratory could definitely become more habitual for him in the future. Bolstered, he continued, throat dry as he reached the part of his speech he most dreaded having to utter.

"But Kira insulted me more. Lara Rinseko was engaged to me." Judging by the murmur running through the crowd, that information was far less public—at least among the lower members—than he'd feared the previous morning. "And Kira killed her. This makes me angry. I have men working even now to bring him down because of what he's done. And furthermore, I..." He braced himself. "Effective immediately, I am open to suggestions for a future bride and will begin seeing them tomorrow."

Almost guiltily he flicked his eyes over to the coffin, feeling in some absurd way ashamed to have said such words within earshot of his former fiancee. Rinseko, he knew, would also likely be offended all over again, but the man would just have to deal. According to Mauro, he had another daughter, after all.

"This is war," Clair repeated, driving his point home as conclusion, "but don't make any moves on your own. Wait for me or one of my men to contact you. If we stand as a single company, Kira will be sorry he ever discovered his powers and will be pleading with us to spare him, that he didn't mean it, that he was only thinking of the city." His smile was so eager he practically salivated. "I look forward to refusing his apology."

To end with something like "that's all" or "I'm done" would have been childish, so he left it at that and walked away again. As he left, dimly aware of Mauro scolding him in one ear and the Board clamoring for his attention in the other, he cast a fluttering glance back at the cold girl in the open casket.

"I'm sorry," Clair whispered, and was surprised to discover that he meant it. "But I'll make Kira sorrier. Mauro, get Inspector Edmundo on the phone."

o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Where do you want this big wire thing?" Giovanni held something up that to him looked like a modern artist's interpretation of an impoverished Christmas tree, though he figured it had to be an antenna of some sort.

Matt shrugged, unloading a monitor from the back of Mello's car and taking it into the Leonelli casino's back door. "Wherever. I'll screw with reception later. Just don't mess with it."

"Drop it wherever, but don't mess with it. Sure." Resisting the juvenile urge to roll his eyes and bristling at the way the two young men ordered him around so casually—Clair was one thing, these were quite another—Giovanni set the strange contraption down next to what appeared to be its bastard children and went back out to the car to continue unpacking.

"Careful with that!" Matt cried as the older man lifted out a slim black rectangle.

The bodyguard cocked an eyebrow and appraised the object. "Looks kinda shabby to me. What's it do, solve the case for you or something?"

"Nah, it's way more important than that," Matt replied in total seriousness. "That's my video game system. In case I get bored. I brought an extra controller if you ever want to play me. But just as a warning—I _own_ everything I own."

Giovanni snorted to himself and carried the precious object like it was a sacred relic into the room Clair had apparently given to Mello for a base of operations. "I guess it gets hooked up to the biggest monitor," he called sarcastically into the hall.

"If you would, that'd be awesome," came the earnest reply. Shaking his head, Giovanni set about attaching the system to the indicated TV set with odd notions about "kids these days" running through his mind.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of teeth chomping into something. No longer able to stand waiting until he was out of the tux, Mello had set into his chocolate supply with a vengeance to make up for his brief period of abstinence. "How's it going?" asked the young man, still dapper and spotless; he had carried Matt's handheld game in and pushed some furniture around in the room, but that had been the sum total of his move-in efforts.

Giovanni groaned and turned to him, fed up. "Look," he accused. "What exactly are you trying to pull here?"

Mello tried to look innocent, but it didn't work; sensing his failure, he instead opted for a devious smile. "Not a single thing," he replied. "I just want Kira's head and Vampire's my best bet to get it first."

"First? Who're you racing?"

Mello's chocolate snapped between his front teeth with such sickening clarity that Giovanni winced. "Just someone I know," he replied evasively. "Someone who keeps stealing first place from me. I don't like thieves."

Matt, coming in with yet another monitor, laughed out loud at his friend's last comment. "Sure," he agreed. "And the incident with the black leather vest?"

"I told you, I forgot I was still wearing it until I'd already left the store!" Mello protested. "And having to explain would have just been lame."

Despite himself, Giovanni cracked a smile. "How long have you two known each other?" he asked. They had begun to remind him of a certain other pair of unruly boys, a pair he could only barely remember sometimes as he watched one of the pair run a mafia and the other drag little boys' video game consoles around.

Exchanging a confused glance, both young men shrugged. "I was seven when my dad kicked it, so...twelve years?" Matt ventured. "Something like that."

"You caught us," Mello added, reading between the lines of Giovanni's question and arriving at the real query at hand. "We grew up together. And you were _eight_, genius."

"I was seven!"

"No , you weren't, because I was nine. That makes you eight!"

"Seven! I remember very clearly thinking that no one should be orphaned as a lucky number!"

Giovanni left them to it, marveling that this was the same pair who'd isolated Lara Rinseko as the key in unlocking the Kira mystery. From what Mello had explained in the car, which hadn't been much, she had been the only victim of the first bout of heart attacks without a promising future in organized crime, and something about killing the daughter of a target as an end in itself didn't seem to match the blond's psychological profile for Kira. The only way her involvement made sense, Mello insisted, was if the killer knew her connection to Clair. Then, the message was complete: Kira was out to eliminate Vita for future generations, starting at the outskirts of the organization and moving slowly inwards. How Kira killed, what he needed, Mello was keeping to himself; but he'd managed to convince Clair to see other women as potential wives.

Unfortunately, they were being used as bait for a murderer.

o0o0o0o0o0o0

"I'm sorry, Kyoko, but the only guy I can spare right now is a flake. You wouldn't want him." Twirling a pencil irritably and taking a deep pull from a mug of black coffee, Ken Edmundo, newly reinstated city detective, grimaced sourly. "Oy, Matsuda! Can't you even brew?"

"Sorry, Vice-Chief," a dark-haired man several desks over called from over a stack of papers which, while considerable, paled in comparison to the small mountain on Edmundo's own desk. "Guess I let it sit too long again."

"Damn straight you did. Why are you still standing there?" Edmundo turned back to Kyoko. "I said no. So...see you around."

"That's not enough, Inspector," Kyoko insisted as politely as she could; the man was exasperating, but he was still her friend and she was determined to attempt civility. "I'll grant you that Near is very clever, and he certainly wants to solve the case very badly, but I just worry he's too young. He's had a hard life, too. I don't know if the Special Unit is the right place for him right now. That's all."

"If he wants to work that case so damn badly, let him. Saves me a headache. Matsuda! Where's that serial bomber profile?"

"Somewhere around here, Vice-Chief...whoops..." The stack of papers on the young man's desk collapsed. "Hang on. I'll get it."

"Is this what you're looking for, Matsuda?" Stepping into the room, an even younger man with sandy-brown hair leaned over and picked up a sheet of paper. Immediately, the other man brightened.

"Yes! That's it exactly! Thank you! Are you looking for your father?"

The boy—really, Kyoko thought, he could probably still be called a boy--held up a small bag. "My mother packed him a lunch this morning but he left without it. Where is he?"

Matsuda's face fell. "Oh. He just went out to grab a bite at with Aizawa. If you leave it on his desk, though, I'm sure he'll want a snack later in the day. It's the one next to Edmundo's."

"I know. But thanks." Carrying the paper over to Edmundo, the boy placed it on his desk and the lunchbag on the empty desk adjacent. Kyoko smiled at him, and he returned the favor.

"Do you need help?" the boy asked; she shook her head, irritated all over again

"I'm just trying to talk some sense into Edmundo here," she began, glancing down to see if he would be angry at her for phrasing the situation so antagonistically, but his phone had rung and he was in the middle of a different argument. "Eh? What?" he barked into the receiver. "Look here, Vamp—ah, sir—just because you brought some of your boys to a fight where I happened to have also shown up does not mean I owe you a damn thing! Who are you after, anyway?"

The boy shrugged helplessly. "Guess you won't be doing any talking soon." Looking down, he studied the paper he'd retrieved for Matsuda, and his own face lit up. "I knew it..." he muttered excitedly. "That's exactly who I picked."

"You're a detective?" Kyoko moved closer to him to peer at the paper as well. Perusing it, she pursed her lips: the words "L got him" were scrawled in a corner.

Noticing the scribble at the same time she did, the boy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean, do you think?"

"Not much. I've heard of...that person...L...and if his heir is any indication, he's not that incredible. He just seems to have a lot of weight among the police, that's all. Right now I'm on one of the most important cases in the city but--" Aware she was ranting, Kyoko broke off. "But you don't care about my problems!"

"No, really. I'm interested. This is the first I've heard of this L person."

"I don't know much," Kyoko admitted, realizing with no small embarrassment on how little information she'd judged both the man and his apprentice. "The only impressive thing I've heard is that he saw through Shun Aurora, but even then he didn't have any proof."

"Fascinating." The boy's brown eyes bored into the "L" on the paper with an intensity that surprised Kyoko. "So did I...And his heir's on a very important case right now? What's he doing?"

"Who knows?" Kyoko sniffed. "You saw through Sh—General Manager Aurora?"

He smiled bashfully. "More like I had a hunch. Something just didn't seem right. Granted, my theory about the scenario isn't very likely, but...oh, it's silly. You don't want to hear it."

"No, really, I do," Kyoko insisted over several incredulous and well-chosen descriptors from Edmundo, still on the phone and getting madder by the minute. "What do you think?"

It was the boy's turn to be embarrassed; he averted his eyes. "Just some silly little thing about his actually being tied to Shop Echigo. It was the only way his incredible information network made any sense, but I'm sure there's a more lucid explanation. I mean, to have that kind of access he would have to _be_ Echigo himself--"

Kyoko was staring. "Th-that's actually very clever," she stammered. "How'd you come up with that?"

"Like I said, just logic." The boy tapped his head as Edmundo, fuming, hung up.

"Who does he think he is, ordering me around like that and hiring some PI to catch that damn Kira...oh, hey. When'd you get here?" he asked the boy.

"Not long ago." The boy checked his watch. "Oh, sorry! I actually have to get going. It was nice to meet you, Ms...?"

"Kyoko. Kyoko Milchan, City Safety Management Agency Special Unit." She offered him a hand, which he shook warmly. "And you are...?"

Gesturing to a plaque on the empty desk, _Soichiro Yagami_, the boy gave her a stunning smile. "The new police chief's son. Light Yagami."

o0o0o0o0o0o0

Clair returned to the casino after Lara's funeral to find Giovanni, Matt, and Mello still hard at work setting the room up—that was, Mello was moving antennae around to find the best reception while Matt attempted to teach Giovanni some fighting video game.

"Am I interrupting something?" the don asked dryly as his bodyguard, spurred by the death of his character, jumped up off the sofa and started shouting at the television set. Instantly mortified, Giovanni dropped the controller and, coughing, wandered over to where Mello was fiddling with the modern-art Christmas tree.

"Not too much," Mello commented, drifting in Clair's direction. "Want to talk now instead of tomorrow? I've got time."

"Might as well," said Clair with one last glance at his bodyguards. "They seem rather busy."

"Indeed." The two young men strolled out of the room calmly, aware of the awkward silence in the room as they took their leave.

The minute the pair reached Clair's office, both relaxed; Clair even went so far as to sit on his desk instead of behind it. "How was the funeral?" Mello asked; Clair shrugged.

"Long. Depressing. The usual fare." Clair didn't know what about Mello put him so much at ease, but after hours among his board of directors he welcomed the change of atmosphere.

"I spent most of my mother's funeral tickling my cousin," Mello confessed. "I haven't been to one since."

Clair gave the blond a blank stare, which Mello returned coolly. "I was six," he defended himself flatly. "And I didn't want to listen to all that flowery shit. My mother was a real bitch."

Speaking of one's parents to nearly complete strangers in such a way had never occurred to Clair before, and for a moment it baffled him. A mysteriously more comfortable atmosphere was one thing. Private lives were another altogether. "We're not here to talk about your mother," he pointed out sharply, steering the conversation back into waters in which he felt comfortable swimming.

"Good," Mello snorted, pulling himself up onto the desk alongside Clair a bit too close for the other boy, who demanded he not be quite so familiar just yet. "Suit yourself," replied Mello, sliding barely an inch down. "Better?"

Clair simply stared him down until half a desk separated them; then he returned to business matters. "I can hold your initiation ceremony after my...my meeting tomorrow with Wei's niece...would seven o'clock work for you?"

"Awfully short date, isn't it?" Mello asked, finishing a chocolate bar he'd found in his pocket. "And you started pretty fast."

Clair's shoulders sagged; in his depression he let the informality of Mello's comments slide. "I had to," he replied brusquely. "Everyone in the room had a suggestion."

"Too bad," Mello remarked. "Guess that makes me the only one in the whole damn company who didn't suggest someone."

Clair gave him a tired glare. "Why?" he asked dully, daring the boy to joke about a situation he himself found completely abominable. "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Actually, yes." Mello leaned closer again and, before Clair could even protest the first breach of decorum, brushed his lips against the young don's.

What started as a brush refused to remain minor, and no sooner had their mouths parted than Mello had pressed himself up against Clair again, wrapping one arm around the boy's head and the other around his chest as his lips met opposing force from their target. At first too shocked to have a response, the don found himself latching onto the other boy with equal eagerness, lip ring ground painfully up against both his own teeth and Mello's. He tasted blood amid the rush to his head as Mello kneaded his mouth up and down, felt the ring tear the tender skin on his lip, but could not let go.

The thrill of excitement frightened him eventually, and finally he was able to detach himself from the boy who only the previous day had been a total stranger. Panting heavily, he wanted to say something—anything—but cognizant thought had left him and he could only soak Mello in with his eyes, terrified, outraged, and yet longing for something more than he ever had before. This wasn't...this couldn't be happening. He hadn't even wanted the boy to sit too close to him or talk about his mother...

No. That was a lie. He had _wanted_ to hear those things, to sit like that. And it was that desire which had scared him into making those demands. Had everything he'd ever pushed away in his life been things he had really wanted? He couldn't remember. Couldn't remember anything except the past few seconds, and even those were more than enough.

"Let's just consider that my initiation ceremony, shall we?" Mello asked, wiping a smear of Clair's blood off his own lip with his thumb and licking it clean. "Enjoy your date tomorrow." Standing, he kissed the top of Clair's head almost teasingly and sauntered out the door, blond hair swaying in an incredibly self-satisfied motion.

Clair stared at the door as Mello closed it behind him and kept staring. Dimly he knew there were things he should be doing, new employees who needed to be shown around or something, but there were other people who could do stupid little things like that. He was still seeing Mello standing there, smiling at him, daring to affront him as no one had ever done before, but revenge had yet to enter the clouds clotting his mind. It was enough to merely imagine Mello there again for the time being.

And so, mouth slack,sore, and feeling wonderful, Clair sat in a daze doing exactly that. Giovanni found him half an hour later still rooted to the spot and mostly unresponsive and, unsure of what had happened, laid him down carefully in one of the adjacent waiting rooms to rest up. Matt was a bit more astute: he noticed the tiny blood drop glistening next to the young man's lip ring and understood.

"Damn it, man," he swore to his friend, pulling a blanket over his new employer. "Couldn't you have _waited_?"


	5. Warning, Use

**Episode.05: -WARNING- (Use)**

As soon as the young man stepped out into the street, the creature began talking. "Watching you sleuth is fun," he commented. "You should do it more often. I feel almost sorry for that girl."

"Don't be, Ryuk," the young man replied, staring straight ahead as he headed home. "People like that deserve every trick played on them. A woman who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut is begging for trouble."

"For a human, though, she was pretty cute," the creature persisted. "Aren't you interested a little?"

"Only in her position in the government," his companion conceded. "Should our paths cross again, she could prove to be useful."

The creature _hyuk_ed to himself. "Do you think of everything in terms of usefulness?"

Snorting, the young man rounded a corner and kicked at a discarded beer bottle in disdain. "If I didn't, would I be acting the way I am with the note, Ryuk? Life is a series of encounters. Some are useful, others are not. Those that are not have no meaning. That's where boredom comes from, and from boredom comes all kinds of vice."

"Like a high school senior accidentally killing the most--"

"We're not going to talk about my first victim. I thought we'd agreed as much." The young man glanced around, then drew an apple out from his coat pocket. "And this is for you. I took it from the bag. Apples, you know," he added as the creature gulped the treat down, "are useful. Even though you may treat them as a luxury with embarrassing consequences, to me they are my way of ensuring your support."

"Support?" The creature cocked its head and regarded its companion with wide eyes. "Call it that if you want."

"Why, what would you call it?"

The creature considered for a moment. "...Companionship," he finally decided. "Pure companionship. I suppose you think just companionship for its own sake is useless too."

"With no ulterior meaning or cause, of course."

"Oh good, I'm useless. That's so much less responsibility."

Smiling, the young man pulled his keys out of his pocket as his house came into view. "Oh, no, Ryuk. You've been quite useful already."

o0o0o0o0o0o0

The hazy euphoria had worn off as the evening drew towards nighttime, and seven o' clock found Clair Leonelli hunched over his bathroom sink with the door locked yet again, scrubbing his teeth with such vigor the frothing toothpaste made him appear rabid. And, in his behavior, he almost seemed it as well.

None of the vague pleasure remained; in its place humiliation and shame lent his motions a certain madness. The only thought driving him forward screamed to erase all trace of Mello from his body and mind, and then to revenge himself on the boy who'd dared impose his own emotions so strongly. He himself had not _meant_, the don told himself, to kiss the young man back. He'd meant to knock the upstart pervert to the ground and stomp his sneering face into the ground for making such presumptions. Things had just gotten out of hand, and in the aftermath he'd been too hypnotized by Mello's forcefulness to respond. But now the blond would be sorry he'd postponed the inevitable. Carefully meditated revenge was always so much sweeter than its spontaneous brother.

How to punish him, though? Clair spat in the sink, turned on the tap, and rubbed his lips on a towel, savoring the abrasive feeling: there, Mello was leaving him, was being erased. Turning off the water, he grabbed a bottle of mouthwash and didn't even bother with a measuring cup, taking a gulp of the liquid instead and sloshing it around inside his mouth. The burning on the insides of his cheeks, he told himself, was a much better pain than Mello's aggression had caused. All of the boy's arresting motions and habits, his way of talking, of toying with the candy in his hands...none of that mattered any more. Clair had been taken in once and would not be again.

Thinking such resolutions over, inspiration struck, and in his excitement he nearly swallowed the mouthwash. Spitting it out and wiping his lips again with the towel, he began to pace back and forth within the relatively confining quarters of the bathroom, restless with sudden excited anticipation. Mello had dared to attract Clair's attention and act on it, which had caused the don only humiliation. Wouldn't turning the tables be just as excruciating for the other boy? Call him to the office to purportedly discuss the Kira situation, purposely dress and behave so as to leave Mello longing to repeat the afternoon's performance, and then...deny him the win!

An old technique, he supposed, but a solid one. It guaranteed mental and emotional agony at least as great as that he himself had suffered...and he got to toy with the boy in turn. Clair was not by any definition a dispassionate torturer. Half the fun, he figured, lay in the process and not merely its results.

Having at last a satisfactory course of action in mind, Clair straightened his shirt in the mirror and swept a few wayward strands of his hair back into place, refusing to believe his hand lingered on the spot where, earlier, Mello had lightly kissed him. Now that he had a plan, his humiliation had all but vanished, just as the—the false joy, it _had_ to be false—had crumbled against his shame. Life was once again worth living.

Then he remembered his prior romantic commitment the next day and the old black mood returned. What was romance good for anyway? Not a damn thing that he could tell. Just a bunch of lies from a bunch of people with ulterior motives. Disgusting.

"No wonder Papa never talked about Mama," he muttered to himself. "He was probably glad to get all this out of his hair."

o0o0o0o0o0o0

Most of Kyoko's sympathy for Near vanished upon reentering the Special Unit office: he was sitting at her desk and, from the looks of its surface, had moved all her papers around. Even Daisuke, informal slob that he had been, had never had the nerve to touch her files.

"That was a remarkably long lunch break," Near commented, double-clicking on something or another and not seeming the least bit guilty at being caught where he didn't belong.

"Yes, Kyoko, you are twenty-one minutes and five seconds late," J added. "Did something happen?"

"Oh, I just met a very nice young man and we talked a bit," Kyoko replied dismissively, a blush tinging her cheeks as she realized she couldn't tell Near exactly _where_ she'd met Light. "And Near...why are you in my chair?"

He looked up. "Ah. I apologize, Kyoko. Among other tactics of organization, I wanted to compare statistics and found it easier on your computer, since you have multiple monitors at your disposal. In a few minutes I will be finished. Hand me my dominos, please."

"What?"

Gesturing to the sofa, Near drew Kyoko's attention to a bucket lying on its striped surface. "My dominos." Wordlessly, grudgingly, she placed the bucket on her ravished workplace and sat down on the couch herself, waiting as patiently as she could for the boy to be finished.

Three domino palaces and several quirks of Kyoko's agitated eyebrows later, Near climbed out of her swivel chair and sat down on the floor. "I'm done."

"Find out anything interesting?" Kyoko asked irritably, sitting and smoothing out her skirt.

"Actually, yes." Grabbing a domino from where the pile still lay on her desk, he tossed it at a small bowl on the ground and watched with satisfaction as the rectangular object clattered into the bowl. "Either Kira is deliberately misleading the investigators, which I wouldn't put past him, or he needs a face and quite possibly a name as well to kill."

"But every criminal in the database has that information--"

Near gave her a slightly patronizing look through his tangled mop of white hair. "There are many unsolved crimes with definite ties to underworld powers that he has yet to touch, though the idea of punishing those who even the law could not catch no doubt tantalizes him. Those men walk free because they remain undocumented. This proves Kira is no mind reader and needs information in order to kill. As the two most important pieces of information, aside from crime, that the database provides are name and face, for the sake of simplicity I shall assume one or both of these two factors is the necessary element. Though, unlike my superior, I hate making assumptions."

"For all you know, though, if the criminals had never been caught he could have killed them and their deaths went unreported! They could even have been perpetrated by someone who was caught for something else and Kira punished them for both!" The boy's arrogance startled Kyoko. "You can't prove anything!"

"Your logic is sound, but your full comprehension of events understandably less so. My superior has in fact solved most of those unsolved cases, and in several of the blackest he approached the criminal through a proxy. Those men and women now, out of respect and fear that we will turn them in to justice, work for us in the underworld. And Kira has not touched them yet." Near began to play with his hair. "Of course, he could merely be trying to get me off track, as earlier stated, and I may wake up tomorrow morning and see a colleague in the obituaries. Which reminds me. If a woman called Wedy calls or a man named Aiber approaches you on the street, even if the call or the visit takes place at your home, they are looking for me. I need you to be my representative in the outside world."

Kyoko bristled. "Near," she replied finally, "let me give you some advice. Should you ever get a girlfriend...don't ever talk to her the way you talk to me. Though I'm sure you don't mean to sound this way, it's insulting and demeaning."

"Why would I want a girlfriend?" Near asked, and Kyoko hung her head in frustration, playing nostalgically with the bullet pendant hanging around her neck. Some people really were hopeless.

O0o0o0o0o0o0

Of all the words to come blasting out of his cell phone at three in the morning, "What the hell were you _thinking_??" probably topped Mello's list of things he wasn't in the mood to hear. The speaker didn't bother to identify himself, but even if Mello hadn't recognized the number or the voice, he would have figured out the puzzle anyway. Only one person in the city used language like that with him.

"What, is the bodyguard thing not working out already?" he asked, sitting up in his bed and switching on the lamp in the shabby apartment's bedroom. "Last I saw, you and the big guy were doing good together."

"Giovanni's cool. He's no problem. Everybody's awesome. But _you_—_you—_" Matt drew in an indignant breath. "That's my employer you're messing with, man! You screw this up and I get a bullet in my head! Not to mention everything else that's at stake. What about being number one?"

"Oh, I was number one, all right," Mello replied drolly. "He put up a good attempt, but I still think I kept the upper hand." He chuckled. "And here I thought for a second you were concerned about your young master's honor. Don't fret, nursemaid. We just snogged a little. Nothing mind-blowing yet."

"You are a perverted psychopath."

"And you're a hysterical coward. Some people believe in sleep, if you can understand that." Mello slid back under his sheets, closed his eyes. "Does anyone else know?"

"I don't think so. Giovanni's not a details kind of guy so he didn't ask too many questions or notice too many suspicious things. But damn, man, _why_?"

"Didn't I say so the first day? I like the kid. He's--"

"--a very good guy, yeah, yeah. Well, your very good guy bitched at me all evening over nothing. Who the freaking heck is Ian?"

"One of his old bodyguards, I think. Why?" Mello rotated the tips of his fingers into his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Groaning, he flopped a hand back down onto his bedside stand and groped around until he found a chocolate bar. Taking a bite, he felt better almost immediately. Psychological tricks weren't just for victims.

"I'm wearing his tux. The old one got dirty in the move so I had to change, and I'm around the right size, I guess. Skinnier. But anyway, Vampire really flipped out and then vanished somewhere. He's pretty cool, but if he stays that tense I just might die here."

"You're still wearing the tuxedo?"

"I have been bugging mansions and playing with wires all night, dude. For you. So don't give me that; promise me you'll lay off the kid and send me to bed!"

"I would love for you to go to sleep, Matt. It's in your power. Hang up and close your eyes. That usually works. In fact..." Smiling, Mello switched off his phone, bit off a last mouthful of chocolate, and lay back down as he worked the candy between his teeth. Maybe Matt was right and he'd misjudged the situation. Maybe he'd just blown his chance to prove himself and beat his rival, a rival who now apparently was working for the government proper.

But he didn't think so; those gorgeous, dangerous eyes defeated and begging him slack-mouthed to stay spoke for themselves. Making a mental note to try and find out where Near's office was first thing in the morning, Mello swallowed his chocolate, smiled, and drew his blankets up over his head. With any luck, he'd dream of those eyes tonight.

O0o0o0o0o0o0

Clair's first date, a niece of Wei Long-lin's, had agreed to meet him in the Chinese restaurant attached to her family's elite hotel. Though the whole scheme smacked of an uncle who hadn't quite learned his lesson, Clair was finally persuaded by Giovanni and Matt (who found the entire concept hilarious despite his official stance on the issue) to leave his grenades and pistol at home. They argued their case on the grounds that were either object to be discovered, unnecessary complications might arise; but Clair knew both men just wanted to remove temptation from their employer's restless fingers.

Those same fingers jittered up and down on his elbow as he sat in traffic, arms crossed in his customary sitting position and keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to look at Matt. Though he conceded that until the boy had a chance to buy his own formalwear the solution Mauro had proposed would have to be implemented, it still made his stomach queasy to see anyone but Ian in Ian's clothes. Staring at his new bodyguard until his vision went out of focus, Clair could all too easily see Ian himself in the driver's seat. Had Ian even had a license? He couldn't remember; Mitchal had always insisted on driving...

"Vampire. Vampire. You awake?" Someone prodded him gently in the arm, and his eyes snapped open in disoriented annoyance to discover the sedan had stopped in front of the hotel already. Had he dozed off?...What was going on? True, he hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night; after dreaming everything in his office had turned to chocolate, Clair had refused to even attempt slumber again; but that shouldn't have affected him so drastically.

"Don't touch me, Giovanni. I'm up." Rubbing his arm where the man had nudged him, Clair climbed out of the car and, head held stiffly to avoid meeting the goggle-obscured eyes of his chauffeur, strode with a martyred air to the door with Giovanni trailing behind him. It had been an unspoken agreement that no one other than his most loyal servant would be privy to these nearly nightly embarrassments.

Wei had set aside an entire party room to ensure his relative and Vampire their privacy—the one offer, Clair reflected, that could actually be considered thoughtful. Adjusting his tie, he nodded to Giovanni. The bodyguard nodded to the waiter who came out to meet them in turn, and Clair followed the man to a closed set of double doors. The waiter held one open, so Clair swallowed hard and entered, laying eyes on Wei Feng for the first time.

His first impression was that, while a good deal more tolerable than the female ogre he'd been expecting, she left a lot to be desired. At least five years if not a good decade older than Clair, her round body practically burst out of a dress two sizes too tight, squeezing over the strapless top in a fashion that made the boy stare in spite of himself before coming to his senses as Vampire, mature chairman of Company Vita. This whole thing was a farce, and fittingly he had a part to play. And that part involved being civil, if not perfectly polite, to the overinflated dough ball in red silk before him.

As he neared the table, she rose, simpering slightly. "Vampire. It's a pleasure, sir." Drawing a small drawstring bag from her purse, she held it out to him using only her thumb and index finger in what the young don figured was supposed to be a dainty fashion. "My uncle requested I give you this."

He couldn't help it—a smirk quirked across his face. Wei was behind in his tribute payments and apparently had chosen to kill two birds with one stone, or at any rate spare a few hours out of a messenger's day. Pathetic.

After he accepted the bag thanklessly, she kept her hand extended. Giovanni snorted in amusement; Clair nearly felt his intestines jump out of his gut in wild protest. No. The ridiculous cream puff could _not_ be expecting what he thought she was.

He glared at her; she blinked demurely, expectantly at him. What had gone wrong with the world lately?

"Are you waiting for something?" he asked her point-blank, abandoning the farce before drinks had even been served or he'd had a chance to sit down. "Give it up. I don't like touching strangers." His lips tingled with recollection, but he forced the memory away. "Or near-strangers."

"I understand. Forgive me for being so forward, Vampire."

"It's a vice of your whole family," Clair replied dismissively and slouched down into his chair, arms once more crossed belligerently; she followed suit, except her own back remained perfectly straight and her hands fell into her lap. "Waiter, the wine."

The man did as requested and left, reminding Vampire and guest that one need merely press a button and he would reappear to take their order; Clair nodded and drained his glass in one gulp. Eighteen years of manners lessons, squandered in a space of ten seconds, he mused, and a smile twisted across his face. Those had always been his least favorite sessions anyway, and no one could tattle on him for being a rude boy tonight. Combine tonight with the way he was planning to behave to Mello tomorrow, and if word got out he would never garner respect again. Somehow in the awkwardness of the moment he didn't mind the prospect as much as he thought he should.

"The wine is to your liking?" the woman inquired, and Clair set his glass down, having consumed the contents too quickly to really notice the flavor or texture. "If you like, one of the men can provide you with a bottle for you to take with you when you go."

Clair shrugged. "You can't win something like this with gifts, you know. So stop trying."

Her carefully made-up face crinkled slightly around the edges in feigned confusion. "I beg your pardon, but..."

"He means cut the crap and take the stick out of your ass," Matt interjected, coming in and closing the door behind him. As the woman gasped, the young bodyguard walked briskly to Clair's side and spoke briefly into his employer's ear.

"Sorry to intrude, but I think you should know Kira just got a few more guys. Mello's on the system and he's got the police reports already. I can put you through to him if you want to hear them."

Although at first he was about to dismiss the upstart for his impertinence, Clair suddenly realized that there was no time like the present to begin implementing his plan. "Sure, put me through," he replied calmly, adding under his breath, "but don't you ever do this again or I will strangle you, Mr. Raccoon."

"Got it. Here you go." Matt punched a button on his cell phone and handed it over. "He's all yours."

"I know," Clair replied wearily, ignoring the way his heart fluttered, and propped an elbow up on the table. "Pardon me, miss. Business calls."

"I understand, Vampire. Shall I wait in the hall?"

"Nah, don't bother..." He was debating adding "Besides, you'd never squeeze back into that chair" when a voice spoke into his ear and his breath caught in his throat.

"Well hello. Having a pleasant evening?"

"I was until our little friend Kira decided to misbehave," Clair replied, choosing his verb carefully and accentuating each syllable with meaning. "But our little friend Mello was even worse yesterday."

A laugh echoed through the line. "Oh, I'll bet. Tell me all about him sometime. How bad was he, really?"

"Believe me, you'll know soon enough. But we can talk about that tomorrow at one, when you pay me a visit in the casino and we continue yesterday's conversation." Clair smiled to himself at the silence on the other end and the expectations that were no doubt being constructed. "Tonight I'm just interested in Kira." Extra stress was placed on the word "interested."

"What's he doing?" Matt asked Giovanni, who shrugged and said it beat the hell out of him in a tone that implied he, too, would very much like for Clair to explain himself immediately.

"Okay." Mello's voice was harder, now; the playfulness had left him and for the first time Clair found himself actually believing the boy had been able to fight his way to the top of Iwanami's disjointed followers. He might be able to respect someone who could talk like that. "Only one guy died, actually, and it wasn't of a heart attack. But get this: the guy was on your payroll, one of the supposedly law-abiding managers of that highway reconstruction project. Got his face and name in the paper for keeping work going so smoothly and all. The really important thing, though, is that the police didn't know about him or even that there was anything shady going on. So Kira got dirt on the guy somehow other than the police files, which I originally figured were his source of information."

"But if it wasn't a heart attack, it wasn't Kira," Clair pointed out, picking up the dinner knife and turning it over in his fingers. He knew to which man Mello had to be referring, and the news depressed him thoroughly: the victim had been very good at his job. Profits on the highway scam would likely plummet after this, the don figured grumpily. Perfect. Just another thing for the Board to harp about.

"What if it was, though? What if Kira could kill in ways other than heart attacks and he's been picking off the supposedly clean people in secret to keep his PR spotless-seeming? And furthermore, what if Kira's got an agent in your ranks? Hell, you could have _met_ the guy. I'd like permission to extend my access to information on every guy you've got working for you and every guy that's died in the past year or so. If I need to I'll go back farther, though."

"Mauro handles all that. Dial 3 in any phone in my place and his cell will ring. But don't call him tonight." If the advisor found out Vampire had taken a mostly frivolous call during one of the important matchmaking sessions...Clair was beyond feeling guilt due to one of Mauro's lectures, but hearing the old man prattle on about things he already knew but had chosen to ignore irked him to no end.

Shifting his weight restlessly in the chair at the mere notion of falling prey to the old man's didactic, Clair tested the edge of his knife against his finger. It was sharper than he'd expected. He grimaced in surprise and pain, breath hissing as he drew it in sharply.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Embarrassed, he hid the injured digit under the table, but his lie was inane and he knew it. "I may have hurt myself."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Mello's voice dripped velvet, low and teasingly suave. "I'll come over right now if you want me to. I'll come over any time."

Since when had his heart outgrown his ribcage? Clair could feel it thudding in protest of its prison within his body. "We can talk about that tomorrow if you want," he said calmly, pleasantly...if a little shakily. "In the meantime, I still think you're jumping to conclusions."

"I've never had a wrong hunch before," the beautiful boy—beautiful? No, no, presumptuous and manipulative—countered smoothly. "Trust me, Vampire. This is really going somewhere." A click, and then silence. Clair wondered to what conclusions Mello thought he'd been referring. He had meant Kira, he told himself. Just Kira. Mello thought his hunch about _Kira_ was right.

"I'm done," Clair told Matt, holding out the phone without turning around and dropping his arm once he felt himself be relieved of the small device. "Go wait in the car."

"Sure. I mean, yes, Vampire." The door opened and shut again, and the Wei woman sat up even straighter in obvious anticipation, though of what Clair wasn't quite ready to confront. Noticing she held her menu in her hands already, he opened his own.

"So...what's good?" he heard himself asking. Small talk. He _hated_ small talk, hated the whole concept of it. Yet here he was! "I had to leave before eating the last time I went to one of your uncle's places." Giovanni _harrumphed_, but Clair deemed the reaction unworthy of even a bored glare. He felt no shame over his past conduct and wasn't about to let the Wei family forget in whose favor the mediator had judged in the conflict. "But I hear the duck is famous."

The woman looked down, and he choked back a laugh at her sheepish expression. "Please, Vampire...what good is it to bring up past conflicts?" Her small mouth turned down in a vague parody of a frown. "If you knew how deeply my uncle regretted his actions afterwards, how he repented bitterly each drop of Leonelli blood spilled, you would not treat the subject so conversationally. For you it may be all a joke, sir, but for us it is a blot on the family."

Your whole family is a blot on my Family, Clair almost said, but nineteen years' wisdom temporarily muted the sneering child within him. "Commend your uncle on his sincere change of heart, then," he replied, "and convey to him as well my continued gratitude for backing me upon Senator Noriega's removal from office." Mauro would have been proud. "I'm still having the duck, though." Or not.

"If Vampire wishes," she replied softly, dropping her eyes modestly. "Shall we call the waiter, then?"

"Might as well." They placed their order, but the whole affair took about five minutes and then Clair faced the prospect of an entire half hour before the main course arrived that he, somehow, had to fill with at least pretending to consider the simpering sycophant for wedlock.

"So...what are you? Occupationally," he asked awkwardly, fully intending to tune the response out. "Do you just work for your uncle?"

"Sometimes," she replied bashfully. "But most of the time...Vampire, I cannot hide this from you, though my uncle wished it to be so. You are not the first man to have approached me. In fact...I was once married before." One finger rubbed the area on her left hand where a wedding band would have rested. "And I have two children."

Winedrops fell to the tablecloth as Clair, who'd lifted his refilled glass to his lips again, sputtered indecorously on a mouthful of the rich liquid. "Ch-_children_?" he croaked. "And wh-when was someone going to tell me?"

"If you chose me, which would be the greatest honor, sir, I was to give them to another man's wife in the family. The poor woman has no children of her own, but mine are terribly fond of her." She smiled. "Though little Jianyu is only two and loves everybody."

From what Clair had heard of his own childhood, he'd spent his twos _hating_ everybody and, he had to admit, things hadn't changed much from there. "Are you fine with that?" he asked her as Giovanni leaned over and cleaned up what little of the spilled wine he could. "For making it an occupation, you're not a very good mother." _My mother was a real bitch,_ Mello bitterly lamented in his mind as another small boy asked, _Papa, is this all right?_ Shaking his head slightly, he knocked both voices away.

She looked not only down but also away. "...No," she finally replied. "I would miss them horribly. But...if you pardon my boldness...to have more children by you would be worth the pain of having to give away those I already..."

"Shut up," Clair snapped, and she looked up in surprise. "And never say that again. To anyone."

"That I would miss my children?" she asked bewilderedly, and he grit his teeth.

"Of course not. The part about _my_ children. You are not having any children by me, and that is final." He stood, dumping his napkin on the table from where it had lain apathetically in his lap. "Nothing could ever make me consider a patronizing, spineless worm for even an acquaintance, let alone a wife. Now go home to the children you have and tell your Uncle Ducky that the next date he sets up for me I'll be celebrating with fireworks. And this time, I won't miss." He turned and headed for the door. "Giovanni, pay the bill anyway."

"I-it's on the house..." she called feebly, but Clair shot her a glare over his shoulder and she let the bodyguard place a check on the table before following his employer out of the door.

"She thanked me, you know," Giovanni told the young don as the pair waited for Matt to bring the car around. "She said you were very kind."

Clair snorted, thinking of the act he would be putting on for Mello the next day. "I'm going to have to fix that. It'll be bad for managing the others."

"Suit yourself, Vampire," said Giovanni as he opened the car door for the young man to climb in.

"Take me home, Matt," Clair demanded over the goggled boy's query as to why he had returned so early. "As fast as you can." Closing his eyes, he resolved that this time he really would fall asleep. Tomorrow looked like it would be a very, very long day, but he planned on enjoying himself for most of it.

Just as long, he thought with sudden fright as the blond's touch ghosted across him in a hazy wandering of his mind, as it wasn't Mello who got the last laugh.


	6. Manipulation, Enthusiastic Performance

Okay, here we go...the Clair Leonelli School of Positive Thinking: Why angst when you can cause someone _else_ psychological anguish?

I don't own anything here, especially not Clair's godawful hiphugger flares. Surprisingly, though, that was the kind of pant that got called "sexy on men" on a lot of nightclub forums. (Yes, I researched sexy pants for this story. I also had to look at man-thongs by accident, _so every single person reading this—_yes, all two or three of you--owes me a review for the brain trauma I suffered!)

**Episode.06: -MANIPULATION- (Enthusiastic Performance)**

Mello was scheduled to arrive at one in the afternoon, which gave Clair a full three hours to play with him before he needed to prepare for his next bridal candidate. He had not realized, however, that with his lunchtime set for noon he was only allowing himself half an hour to get ready for the boy's coming. In secret he'd smuggled the necessary items—the outfit, the jewelry, a bouquet of roses he'd told Mauro to purchase "for the women"--to the casino with him, but dressing was proving to be far more difficult. The restrooms, even in Clair's administrative wing behind the building itself, were less than spacious.

Sitting on the sink counter, his pale silk shirt draped over a stall to keep him from staining it with nail polish, Clair wiggled his dark-purple nails in the air and waited for the lacquer to dry. He'd noticed Mello painted his own nails jet-black, but such a shade wouldn't be in keeping with the rest of the outfit he had selected for the afternoon's activities. The look the waitress he had sent out for the polish had been odd enough without his requesting something quite so drastic.

God, but the stuff stunk something awful! Gingerly, Clair switched on the fan in hopes of clearing the air and blew on his hands for what felt like the thousandth time. Satisfied, he hopped off the sink, wincing as his too-tight hip-hugging pants protested, and practiced a sashay over to where his shirt hung. Pulling it on and buttoning it—but leaving plenty of what little chest muscle he possessed exposed—he arranged his collar on his neck and picked up a small silver chain from the countertop. A hook on one end attached to his left earring; its twin on the other end latched around his lip ring. No, his hair was getting in the way, that was stupid. Clair unhooked the chain and looped it around his wrist as a bracelet instead. There, that was much better.

Tilting his head gently upwards, Clair reviewed himself in the mirror through his long eyelashes. The shirt was fine—a light, indistinct cool color that managed to echo hues of both his lilac eyes and the cornflower blue with which he'd dyed his bangs; and the subtle row of ruffles down the sides were a nice touch. He wasn't sure the torture device on his lower half that supposedly passed for pants, squeezing his hipbones towards each other in a fashion that made Clair realize exactly _why_ so many women on the street seemed to waddle rather than walk, complemented his upper half properly, but he figured anything that flared at the bottoms and had laces instead of a zipper would be certain to drive his particular victim mad. His shoes would stay the same. Discomfort could only be tolerated to a certain extent, and he refused to divert from his slip-ons for anything short of a suit.

Picking up a rose from where the bouquet lay, he held it gently between his teeth and stifled a laugh at the resulting ridiculous display. Fortunately, he had other props with which to engage his mouth, fresh from the confectionery.

A glance at the delicate watch hanging from one slender wrist told him showtime was imminent, and so Clair double-checked that his normal clothing was all in one pile and ready for his return, picked up his roses and his secret weapon in its small gold-gilded box, and slunk to his office, hoping no one would see him before he got there. The shirt wasn't so bad; when someone would show Mello in all they might notice would be that he'd left an extra button or two open. But the pants were tantamount to a minor scandal, should Giovanni or—worse—Mauro to see him in them. He'd bought the things after storming out of the house in a fit of rage several weeks before his father's death, but had never had the courage to even reenter the store whence they had come afterwards: upon seeing his name on his credit card, he'd been swarmed with wide-eyed adolescents fat with romantic notions about mob life. Only after proving that his gun really _did_ fire real bullets (and having to pay for a window afterwards) was he able to make good his escape. Ironically, though, that embarrassing ordeal had paid off, or so it now seemed.

Luck also seemed to be with the young don this afternoon, despite his leaving Mitchal's love-worn purple dice in his other pockets: he made it to his office undetected and even had several minutes to arrange himself languidly behind his desk before the door opened and Matt, with a visible facial spasm upon seeing Clair's shirt, ushered Mello in. "Goddamn..." the bodyguard muttered, and the door swung shut. Spider and fly were alone.

"Hello," said Mello. "What the hell is that?"

Clair picked up a rose and twirled it lazily, noting with satisfaction the way the dim light glanced off Ian's ring, glinting blue on his finger and drawing Mello's eyes to his hand and its decorated fingertips. "Every now and then I like to try something different," he replied casually. "It keeps me from being bored. Life is only worth living when it's exciting." Coming out from behind his desk, he rolled his hips up and perched on the edge of his desk the way he had the previous day.

On seeing Clair's pants, Mello's eyes dropped as predicted, and Clair half-hoped the boy would keep staring if only to keep his vision distracted from how red the don's cheeks were getting. He had _wanted_ this reaction. He had prepared for it. There was nothing to get short of breath about. This was all already going according to plan.

"So let's talk about Kira," Clair offered, opening the gold box and popping one of the small round objects inside into his mouth. Closing his eyes briefly, he smiled and savored the treat.

"What?" Mello was meeting his eyes again, expression dark, but his own cheeks were tinged and Clair could see sweat beginning to speckle on his face. "What do you...have there?"

Clair showed him the box. "Chocolate-covered cherries," he replied after swallowing slowly, retracting the candy just as Mello reached for it. "They're my favorite, though, so I'm not sharing."

Mello's mouth smacked. "That's rude, Vampire," he said shortly. "I might not tell you about Kira, then." Moving closer, his tone changed, became a bit of a purr. "And we wouldn't want that, would we? We don't want to stay in trouble..."

"Trouble keeps me from being bored too," Clair replied, holding the chocolate at arm's length above his head, pausing first to stick another cherry in his mouth, rolling it around and letting a little of the red juice trickle out over his lip. He lowered his eyelids and peered coyly through his lashes at Mello. "But if you tell me everything you want to get Kira and why, I just might change my mind."

Mello's hand had been moving of its own accord to gingerly touch Clair's cheek, making the other boy stiffen and nearly recoil, but as Clair licked the juice cattily, deliberately, off of his lip the blond retracted his reach. A smile cracked his features. "What are you _doing_?" he asked good-naturedly. "And don't tell me the roses are for me."

"Do you want one?" Clair innocently offered Mello one of the indicated flowers. "I have lots, and it would stand out so well against all the black. Here, I'll put it in your buttonhole..." He pressed himself up against the other boy, decorated fingers lacing the stem into Mello's stylishly ripped leather jacket. "How's that?" he asked when the rose was in place, remaining close enough to Mello to feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that the other boy's energy sent all his own nerves tingling of their own accord.

Although Clair could practically feel the other boy shudder in reaction to his own warmth, Mello pushed the don out of the way and made a grab for the desk. "Gotcha," he remarked teasingly, waving the box of chocolates in the air and stuffing two in his mouth at once. "You can't pull something on _me_ like that. No, Vampire, if this is the game you want to play, I have to help make the rules too."

"Oh, there aren't any rules yet," Clair remarked slyly, refusing to let his small loss cost him the war. "Let's keep all our options...open."

"Good," replied Mello, and before Clair could stop him the boy's fingers were up Clair's shirt and dancing across his spine, his chest was pressed up against Clair's, his mouth was gently caressing the young man's neck. Clair felt a shaky sob force its way out of his lips, and tears sprang to his eyes. "No..." he mumbled incoherently. "Mello...stop...no..."

His words lost some meaning, considering he'd buried his head in the other boy's brilliant blond hair, but to his surprise, Mello listened. A wicked smile villainizing his already impish figures, the dark-clothed boy slunk away, reestablishing a safe distance between the two young men. "Thank God," he replied, shaking his head. "For a minute you had me worried there."

"Worried?" Clair asked, a bit more sharply than he'd intended to. "Soft" and "gentle" were two qualities he had never fully mastered.

Mello had somehow managed to keep hold of the box of chocolates, and he stuck one into Clair's mouth and his own simultaneously. "That you really meant all that shit," he explained around the sweet obstruction. "You have no idea how terrible it would be for me if that was how you really tried to seduce. What was this, anyway? It's no Kira session."

The chocolate turned to dirt in Clair's dry mouth; he swallowed ungracefully. "I-I told you to stop, and that's what I meant," he answered. "I'm Vampire, not someone you picked up who-knows-where. And I _hate_ people like you. I could have you shot for what you did. In fact, I should shoot you right now."

"I wish you _had_ shot me. It would have been a hell of a lot less painful than watching that performance. How long did it take you to pull on those pants? You have them laced wrong, by the way." Mello's tongue explored his lips in search of stray chocolate. "So what, you want me to lay off? I'm just getting started..."

"Then it's a good time to stop before you get too warmed up," Clair interrupted angrily, ashamed at having to disband his charade and enraged at the thought Mello was laughing at him. "I'm a very fair chairman and always repay my debts. I will give you everything you want..._for the Kira case._ Nothing else. Understand?"

"Perfectly, Vampire. From now on, these--" he drew a coaxing finger across Clair's lips-- "are beyond my jurisdiction. Is that right?"

"Exactly," Clair replied, bristling at even the slight touch. "And in return, I show mercy and remain your patron and assistant on your case. Are these arrangements satisfactory, Mr. River?" It took him a minute to remember the boy's real name; in the space of only two days he'd already become accustomed to just calling the infuriating young man "Mello."

"Of course, Mr. Leonelli. In fact, they're ideal. After all, I'd rather not be responsible for any more displays like that one. A man has to consider his public image." Backing towards the exit, Mello bowed. "If you have nothing more to say..."

"I don't." It was almost over. He could take the pants off soon. Even a date with a Board member's daughter sounded appealing after this. Suits at least were fairly loose-fitting.

"...I shall take my leave." Swerving on his heel, Mello strolled away with his head held high, half-eaten box of chocolates still clenched tightly in his hand. Clair breathed out a sigh of relief, glad the meeting was concluded. Revenge was still pending, but at least he'd managed to make his stance absolutely clear.

Then, at the door, Mello turned and gave Clair another pixy smile. "Oh, and Vampire? You've got chocolate on your neck."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Although she had lamented the Special Unit building's position within the city many times over, stuck as it was on a busy street corner and thus making rush-hour navigation difficult, Kyoko did have to appreciate her workplace's close proximity to a public library. Since Daisuke had left, her own curiosity about other cities—what he might be seeing, where he might be going—had been piqued, and so once a week she had begun to habitually visit the library and browse the understandably sparse travel section.

Halfway finished with "Stepping Stones," a history of the once-luxury resort, now-ruined artificial construct Archipelago (which looked _much_ nicer in the pictures than she remembered from her own brief trip to its shores), Kyoko bumped into someone on her way out of the stacks. "I'm so sorry," she cried automatically, and then her mind registered who the young man was and a smile burst onto her lips. "Oh, hello!"

Carefully putting a book back on the shelf, Light Yagami adjusted his own small tower of reading material and returned her smile. "Miss Milchan, was it?" he asked. "From the police station?"

"Please, just Kyoko is fine," Kyoko insisted. "Did your father return in time for you to see him yesterday?"

Light shook his head. "I had to run home to do homework. College entrance exams are coming up, and I have to be prepared."

"Is that what you're getting ready for now?" Kyoko asked, eyeing his pile of literature, but Light shook his head.

"No, it's probably silly, but I'm doing some outside research on my own..." He showed her the spines; Kyoko recognized several as prominent military histories. "The old army fascinates me. Such discipline, such noble ideals, and yet such a twisted method of expressing them. It's enthralling to learn about."

Forcing herself not to be insulted over the "twisted method" phrasing—he could not have known her personal connections and probably didn't even mean anything by it—Kyoko's eyes lit up. "My grandfather is a captain in the army reserves!" she exclaimed. "He speaks of the old army so fondly."

"I don't doubt it," replied Light with a smile. "They must have been interesting times to live in, back before the nonaggression pact...But we are ushering in a new world now. Still, I'd love to talk to him."

"He'd love to talk to you too!" Kyoko was thrilled, after another long frustrating day with Near, that something could be working out after all. Compared to the boy, Light was so much easier to talk to. He almost reminded her of Daisuke in that regard—so open, so honest-seeming. "We've all heard his stories a million times and I'm sure he could use a new audience."

"Of course. When would be all right? I wouldn't want to impose myself on your family in any way."

"Oh, you'll never be an imposition to Grandpa...here, no time like the present; let me call right now." Setting her own book down, Kyoko pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed. Light waited patiently for her to finish her call, and when she hung up a pleased, if stunned, expression graced her features.

"...They're free tonight," she said shakily. "He practically demanded you come over immediately. But I'm sure you're busy..."

He shook his head, and her head spun at how quickly things were progressing. "No, I think I can make it. It's good for me to get out of my room every now and then. Staring at the same four walls gets so boring."

o0o0o0o0o0o0

Giovanni stared at Clair's hands. "Vampire, is that..." he began, unable to finish his statement in amused confusion; the young man nodded his head sulkily and glared daggers out of the car window at the pouring rain. It wasn't _his_ fault he'd forgotten to get polish remover.

"Personally, I like it," Matt chimed in from the driver's seat. "Though I have to tell you it clashed with that getup earlier."

"What getup?" Giovanni asked, but Clair evaded the query.

"It's the next left, Matt. Keep yourself focused on driving and maybe we'll all get there in one piece."

Matt got the hint. "Sure thing, Vampire. So who is it tonight?"

"Gina Rungong, age twenty-three," Clair recited from memory; after the Wei incident the previous evening Mauro's background research had become _much_ more thorough. "Daughter of a Board member, does odd jobs for the family with the hopes of making a name for herself besides her father's. Apparently the best shot in the branch. But I doubt that."

"Give a girl a chance, would you? Mouth off to her and you could end up..."

"What did I say about driving?"

"Sorry."

The meeting spot had been chosen in a neutral area on purpose this night, an upscale bar in the center city area that usually catered to entertainment celebrities and not those from the areas flashbulbs rarely reached. Clair had protested at first—such a spot would practically ensure Vampire would be seen with a woman, which would likely lead to inquiries and the whole bride search going public—but Rungong had assured him no such slips would occur. He had friends, the Board member had confided, who would see to it, and wouldn't Vampire trust his friends?

Clair, for his part, didn't trust Rungong or his "friends" as far as he could throw them, but with Mauro doing most of the actual communicating somehow he'd ended up at the bar anyway. If this kept up he'd have to start negotiating with his subordinates himself, a task which he faced with very little relish but which was likely no more painful than another rendezvous arranged by the nervous, capitulating old man.

"Here we are." Matt whistled. "Classy joint. Hey, do I give the valet the keys or keep driving myself?"

"Ignore the valet," Clair instructed, and the boy obeyed, stopping only to drop off his employer under the broad awning of the bar. "Go amuse yourself somewhere," the don told his new bodyguard, "but be back by ten to pick us up. Giovanni'll call if it's earlier."

"Gotcha. Does that mean I can catch a smoke?"

Clair cast a glance up at the dark sky and the rain streaming down. "Only if you don't mind getting wet. No fumes in my car."

"Soak my ass off for a light. Gotcha. Have a nice date." Waving cheerily, Matt pulled away from the curb, accidentally splashing both men with his back tires. Shivering, Clair stuffed his hands with their still-purple nails in his suit pockets and grumpily trailed after Giovanni.

They'd beaten their companion to the meeting point, but shortly after ordering drinks and commandeering a small corner table the pair saw a thoroughly soaked but invigorated cinnamon-skinned young woman come breezing in, shaking an umbrella out and looking like she'd had the time of her life despite being drenched to the bones. As she turned flashing brown eyes on them—eyes Clair tried his hardest not to compare to chocolate—her face fell a little upon seeing Vampire in person. Apparently a slight young man with a ragged head of dual-hued hair wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting.

"Don't bother getting up," she told him, dropping her umbrella and draping her coat over one of the high-legged chairs. "I've been rude already by being so late. I apologize."

"I'll get up if I want to," Clair countered, ornery when ordered around, and to prove his point he hopped down to face her—or to at least attempt to face her. Between her natural advantage and her heeled boots, Clair only came up to about the woman's chin.

Giovanni laughed; the woman frowned even deeper, but quickly switched back to a smile and held Clair's chair for him as he, embarrassed, climbed back up. Sliding into her own, she turned her smile on Giovanni. "Would you mind introducing me to your friend, Vampire?" she asked. "It feels strange to sit with strangers. I'm nervous enough already."

She certainly didn't _seem_ nervous; Clair could only dream of dripping assertiveness so thoroughly. If this was an act, it was better than most he'd seen in a long time, and for that alone his esteem for the woman rose. "Giovanni's my head man," he replied bluntly. "He's here for my protection."

"Anyone stupid enough to try pulling a hit in this place doesn't deserve to eat trash off the ground," Gina replied, scrunching up her face in disgust. "I didn't expect you to be the cautious type."

"You're not what I expected, either," Clair shot back, feeling out-of-place in his suit. The woman had come to meet her father's superior in heeled boots, tight-fitting jeans with fringe along the seams that, to their credit, managed to accentuate the shapeliness of her figure, and a low-cut shirt which she filled out nicely without overflowing. Her body was lean and muscular and her face thick-browed and intense, with full lips and dark lashes. She wore her long black hair, disheveled temporarily from the rain, to about her elbows, with some of the front in bangs and the bits more along the sides pulled to the sides to frame her face.

Her mere presence in the room made the universe shrink. Clair did not appreciate the feeling at all, though, looking over at Giovanni, he felt a pang of panic in addition to irritation. Though his eyes remained coolly obscured behind his sunglasses, the bodyguard was irrefutably goggling at the exotic, vacuum-creating specimen before him. And she, with one eyebrow lifted in a vixenly curious fashion, was meeting him appraisal for appraisal. The atmosphere between them roiled to the point where the don felt he, and not his companion, was the odd man out at the table.

The waitress brought drinks, and Gina ordered one for herself in addition to an hors d'ouvres platter—ostensibly for the trio to split, but from her voracious grin upon placing the order Clair wondered if she would save any food for him. "So how long have you two been together?" she asked as soon as the waitress had sauntered off.

They exchanged a glance and did some mental math. "Fifteen years, give or take," Clair answered, rotating his glass between his hands but reluctant to drink in front of this woman. With how childish he felt in her presence, the alcohol would likely make him sick.

She whistled. "You must have grown up together, then. That's impressive. So you were four and he was...?"

"I'm twenty-seven, Miss Rungong," Giovanni interrupted with a shaky grin. "Blood type O, never learned my Sun sign because I don't care. So you can stop fishing. He doesn't like that."

"He can voice his own opinions," Clair muttered through gritted teeth at the man, but his words fell on deaf ears; at least for the present, the female had Giovanni's full attention.

Gina smiled crookedly, cocking her head aggressively. "Age twenty-three, blood type AB, Sun sign Aries. And please, just call me Gina. You too, Vampire. Let's all be friends."

A minute ago she'd been nervous about strangers. Clair was reminded with sudden forcefulness why he hated women. "In that case, call me Clair," he replied, daring her with his eyes to even _try_.

Apparently she either missed the hint or accepted the challenge. "Clair and Giovanni. Giovanni...what was it?"

"Gallo," Giovanni supplied. "Don't try to find out the pedigree because there ain't any. Ow!"

The last exclamation found its roots in a wing-tipped shoe which had chosen that moment to dig sharply into his calf: Clair had kicked him under the table. Glowering, the don retracted his foot and looked away, abandoning himself even further to his sulk. The first woman had kids already, the second went gaga over his bodyguard...he wondered if a single woman in all of Judoh was free of prior attachments, since he refused to marry anyone—if he _had_ to marry anyone to begin with-- who had ties to someone else. When Clair possessed something, he wanted it totally.

"Totally" pretty much described the hold Gina Rungong already had on Giovanni. The man was gazing at her behind his sunglasses the way Clair had seen Ian look at a computer or his father a new building project for the family. The way Mello, only that afternoon, had looked at him...but he had sorted that out.

"So is Gina short for something?" the idiot man was asking the woman, giving her his most roguish smile. Clair hated it when Giovanni tried to be roguish; he never pulled it off well.

"Regina," she grimaced. "You understand why I'm having it legally shortened."

"Actually, I think it's beautiful." Giovanni leaned further over on the table, and Clair began debating the many uses for a necktie. Besides hanging uselessly in front of his chest, it also had begun to look appealingly like a suicide weapon. Small talk was bad enough. Soupy small talk made him want to either throw up or throw grenades. As both options were unavailable to him at present if he were to maintain face as Vampire, the necktie option began to gain even more allure. "It suits you very well."

"Oh God, that's not a compliment," she groaned; then her head perked up—the band had begun to play. "I love this song!"

Couples began to drift from the bar and tables towards the small dance area on the other side of the room; Giovanni closed one broad hand over the woman's own fingers. "Want to dance?" he asked. "Though, of course, I guess you should dance with Vampire first."

She stifled a laugh, but Clair barely looked over. "Go ahead," he said listlessly. "Have fun. I'll be fine right here."

"Well, if you're sure..." Linking her arm in Giovanni's, Gina reached up with her other hand and pulled his sunglasses off, placing them over her own eyes. Then she gave a little gasp. "Your eyes are...why do you hide your eyes?"

"Probably for the same reason you want to change your name," he replied, steering her thankfully out of Clair's earshot in the noisy bar. The bass line of the song had started to give the young man a headache, and he slouched over in his chair, alone at the table. Even Giovanni had abandoned him tonight. For the first time in fifteen years, he was really and truly by himself.

Well, he couldn't stay and watch the bodyguard have fun without him; he had absolutely no interest in witnessing the night's conquest. It was still pouring down like a monsoon outside, but Clair decided he didn't care. If he left immediately, it could be minutes to hours before anyone noticed his departure. That would give him enough time to find something—anything—to do to cheer himself up.

Yet, standing minutes later on a street corner in front of a park bench and hugging himself for warmth, Clair found he could not think of a single thing he wanted to do with his evening. Standing turned to sitting, sitting turned to lying, and he closed his eyes as the rain continued to drum down onto his skinny frame. He sneezed, wondering if this night was really a blessing in disguise; if he, say, contracted pneumonia, maybe he could buy himself time before he had to pick or even see another woman...maybe everyone would be worried enough about him that they'd call the whole thing off...

No, that was stupid and naïve. No one on the Board and very few people elsewhere cared about Clair Leonelli. They feared Vampire and respected him while always keeping their own interests. Clair could drop dead—Kira could strike and his heart could stop—right here on this street corner, and not a single person in the whole company would mourn. He wasn't a person, he was a thing to be paired off, a point whence to spawn a future for profits and power. He had never been a person. He had never had a self.

Something hot trickled down his cheeks in addition to the cold drops from the sky, and Clair hiccoughed, feeling rainwater seep into even his socks. Already his fingers were beginning to numb, pasty beneath their purple decorations, and he closed his eyes to blot out the uncaring world all around him. Maybe he would melt like the rain and spread over the world, choking it like it had choked him...or maybe he would freeze, colder inside than he could ever be outside...and his father would frown, but that was all right, because he hadn't been a person to Papa anyway...

Someone touched his cheek, turned his face up to identify him, and Clair flinched away without opening his eyes. Didn't people know better than to interfere with strange boys on street corners? The world was full of such idiots.

"Oh, God," said a familiar voice. "What are you trying to do to yourself? Don't answer that, actually. Hold on; you're coming with me." Warm arms lifted him to his feet, hugged him close to a beating heart; he could feel the rosary hanging in front of that heart press into his skin. "We gotta get you out of this crappy weather before you kill yourself."

Again Clair thought of his necktie, and had he still possessed the strength he would have tried his suicide theory. Anything was better than going with the person whose caring embrace now enfolded him, made his mind fuzzy with relief and gratitude.

Death was preferable to whatever awaited him. No matter what, he couldn't end up in debt to Mello.


	7. Fight, Whiteout

These characters aren't mine. And that's pretty much all there is to say on this subject.

**Episode.07: -FIGHT- (Whiteout)**

Writhing in agony, the creature wrapped its right arm behind its back and grabbed its leg, which was also bent in an awkward angle. "Of all the things to serve..." it groaned to its human companion, "an _apple pie_...and just when your mother needs to go grocery shopping...was it good?"

Closing his notebook and tapping his pen against the cover, the young man smiled to himself. "Not really. But it was worth it." Carelessly he knocked over the stack of books lying on the corner of his desk and smirked as they tumbled to the ground. "Soon, Ryuk, you'll see the greatest act of the drama yet. The curtain goes up tomorrow, in fact."

"If I make it until tomorrow..." Lather had begun to build up between the creature's jagged teeth. "What happens then?"

"Weren't you listening?" The young man straightened his tie professionally and went about picking up the scattered volumes. "I have a job interview. With a small group of people in charge of a very, very important case."

"You are a rotten person." The words were given with no hint of malice; in fact, the creature's voice was tinged with respect and awe. "By what I've seen of human standards, at least. To me it's all the same."

"Rotten?" The boy's brow quirked but soon smoothed out. "That's unlike you, Ryuk." He sighed. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I really am nothing but, deep down, a twisted optimist with a sick dream. A rotten person." A slight tug on the corners of his mouth betrayed he hadn't really considered the option. "But...I'm a very efficient god."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Mello dragged a struggling but listless Clair down three blocks and up to a three-story apartment building, which given the glamorous surroundings was actually quite small and unkempt. As the blond switched on the lights in one of the second-floor apartments, he kicked a pair of muddy boots out of the doorway and held the door open for his guest. "It's not much, but it keeps out the rain," he said almost shyly as Clair stared at the disaster area before him.

"If you're this lazy, get a maid," Clair sniffed, eyeing the piles of dirty dishes on nearly every tabletop and wrinkling his nose at the half-full ashtrays Matt had left lying around. "You've got to have the money."

"I _would_ have the money if it weren't for all that techno junk we need for the case," Mello corrected, kicking the door shut behind him and clearing a space on the sofa for Clair to sit down. "Iwanami wasn't living high on the hog himself, just pretending to and getting crazy in debt. Besides, the idea of some total nobody going through my stuff creeps me out. Whole damn servant system does, in fact."

Though uncomfortable with the idea of associating with anything with zebra stripes, Clair's tiredness won out over his good taste and he collapsed onto Mello's garish sofa. "This doesn't mean anything," he warned the other boy, wrapping a blanket around his shivering shoulders. "As soon as I dry off I'm calling Giovanni and going straight home."

"I haven't got a washer or a dryer. You're stuck with me overnight. We can open the oven and place your stuff near it to dry faster if you like, but that'll heat up the whole damn place."

"You don't have a..." The thought was alien to Clair. Mello grinned.

"Hell, half my stuff's hand-wash only and Matt never bothers with his own. To him, 'clean' means 'inside-out'."

Come to think of it, the apartment _did_ smell pretty bad. Clair made a mental note to train Matt in the proper art of attiring oneself at his earliest possible convenience. Chilled, he pulled the blanket tighter. "Get me some wine," he ordered Mello. "Red if you have it."

"No brain-altering anything in the house while I've got a case, sorry. Caffeine being the only notable exception. I even make Matt smoke on the porch most of the time. But I can make you a hot drink."

"What do you have?" Accepting charity from anyone, especially Mello, was unthinkable... but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Mello walked into the kitchen and poked his head in a cabinet. "Dark hot chocolate, milk hot chocolate, mocha hot chocolate, hot chocolate with marshmallows in the little packet, Swiss hot chocolate..."

Clair shouldn't have asked. "I'll pass."

"You sure? The Swiss is damn good for a powder mix. Silky." Mello filled a teakettle and placed it on the stove to heat, then wandered through the living area and into an adjacent hallway. He emerged with a pile of clothing, which he tossed at Clair. "Here you go. Stop dripping on my couch."

"I'm fine," Clair insisted, but his words were negated by the furious sneeze following them. Grumpily, he stalked to the bathroom and emerged a few minutes later in black sweatpants and a thermal.

Looking up from where he was dumping two packets of hot chocolate mix into only one mug, Mello whistled. "I think I like you wet."

Embarrassed, Clair looked down and saw that his shirt was still sticking to himself, outlining the faint contours of his chest and stomach muscles. "Take these," he replied brusquely, shoving his wet suit at Mello. The boy spread the garments out on the kitchen counter and grinned.

"So...where's your underwear?"

"I'm going to bed," Clair snapped; although he had no intentions of actually sleeping, he wanted to continue his earlier sulk and just couldn't do it on a zebra background. "Where is it? And if I hear you come within twenty feet of the door, you are not only off the Kira case, but every headhunter in the city will be after you. But I won't order them to kill you." He tried to smile cockily but barely had the strength to stand. "That pleasure I'll save for myself."

"Second door on your right. Throw anything that might be on the bed onto the floor." Mello strolled over to Clair, tilted the young don's head up coyly with one finger. "You sure you don't want me to find some _other_ way to warm you up?"

Clair's lashes fluttered, but he knocked Mello's hand aside and glared at him venomously. "We had an agreement," he reminded his inferior. "If you forget your end, I might forget mine, too." He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Mello smiling cattily in his wake.

"You're coming around, Vampire," he murmured softly to the closed bedroom door, taking a sip of his double-strength cocoa and scowling as it burned his tongue. "I'll honor your stubborn phase. But it won't last long."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

There were some ideas, Kyoko reflected, that really sounded much better at first than upon execution. Tattoos, for the most part, fell into that category for her. So did kissing on a first date and buying a pet. And now she had something new to add to the list.

Bringing people in to meet Near.

"This is the second person in three days," the boy hissed to her as their guest waited politely in the hall, having been expelled by Near shortly after entering in the first place. "Are you really trying to have me killed?"

"The first person was my mother," Kyoko shot back. "And if you're even coming close to suggesting Light Yagami is a threat to your safety--"

"Even _you_ are a threat to my safety," Near shot back. "I have not ruled out the possibility of your being Kira, though given your abysmally idiotic behavior I doubt it. But a total stranger is a blank slate!"

She'd never seen the boy express actual emotions, which made his anger all the more frightening. "What should we do now, then?" she asked, pragmatic to the end and wanting to steer the conversation away from her ineptitude. It would be pointless, she knew, to explain to Near the strange turns the night had taken, how Light had so thoroughly charmed her entire family to the point where, as Light and her father batted Kira theories back and forth across the kitchen table long after the apple pie had been cleared away, the subject of Light's perhaps joining the Special Unit had arisen. Instantly both of her parents and her grandfather had backed the idea and coerced a bashful Light to admit that actually, there was nothing he'd like better.

Near sighed and withdrew again to his usual, if still a bit sullen, self. "I suppose I should interview the boy to determine his intelligence and likelihood of being Kira himself," he conceded. "Now that he has seen my face, there seems to be no further harm posed in investigating him in more detail. But what you have done is very, very stupid. The only saving grace I see in this situation is that, if I die, there shall only be three suspects. Yes, I suspect even your mother, so stop gawking and exchange places with your friend outside the door. This should not take very long. In two or three hours I shall have my answer for you. Until then, good day."

Rattled, Kyoko nodded. "O-okay." Backing to the door, it opened automatically and Light looked up from where he stood leaning against the wall, reading one of the army books. "Near wants to talk to you," she informed him, hoping her blush from being rightfully scolded had faded sufficiently. "Good luck."

"I need luck?" he asked with a small smile, which she could not return.

"It's Near," she told him wearily. "If you're going to end up working with him...you'd better get used to it sooner rather than later."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Draining the dregs from his third cocoa of the night, Mello sat on the couch and stared blindly at the papers in his hands. Over and over again he'd tried to sort through all the victims and possible victims, and he knew he'd seen a pattern only the previous day, but he just couldn't stay focused to follow it through. Goddamn it all.

At this rate, he figured, Near would breeze through the case miles ahead of him, given the younger boy's own connections. What did Near need with connections? The damn kid was practically a robot himself. You put data in, you got a solution out. How could a person compete with that—a lone, determined, but distractable person?

He must have sounded like such an idiot, babbling on about how he had all these rules when he was on a case. Yes, Mello disciplined himself very thoroughly—he had since even before going to the orphanage and discovering maybe he wasn't so special after all, that being a big fish in a big pond was tantamount to being a nobody—but there were still factors he couldn't predict, opportunities that might arise. Decisions he might have made which he half-regretted.

Clair's clothes, lying next to the open oven, had finally dried out; walking over, Mello turned off the appliance and carefully folded the garments into a neat pile, pausing to hold the shirt close to his face. Smiling, he carried it back to the sofa with him and sat down again. It still carried traces of the boy's cologne, the way he went to great lengths to smell like nothing while acting like he owned the world. Mello came from a sensory world, did not live life so much as taste it, an explosion of chocolate or blood or sweat on his tongue, and the harsh sterility of Clair's environment had almost intimidated him at first. Here was no Iwanami, ordering that drugs be shipped to the lowest slums while feeding koi in a pond; this was the real deal, the upper crust. Mello had spent most of his life hating the upper crust, legal or illegal, because as far as he could tell they'd never had to earn their positions. Being born number one when better men killed each other over bread on the streets seemed the greatest unfairness a world could pose.

Of course, Clair had been different than that; Clair was different in so many ways, and any kind of new experience intrigued Mello. For the millionth time his eyes flicked to and away from the hallway, his leg muscles tensed as if to stand and walk over, but he forced himself to remain where he was. It was better for both of them this way; he'd won a victory already by being able to claim Clair Leonelli had spent the night in his apartment. And it would be better for the case if he regained some of the trust which he had so foolishly forfeited.

The boy who went by the name Nate River may not have been number one, but he was no fool. His mind had warned him that it had been too soon, that Vampire was dangerous, that it was bad enough that he'd adopted a familiar tone on the first day without kissing the blasted child the second. Near, if Near could feel emotions (which Mello sometimes doubted), would have certainly repressed his attraction and remained at a civil distance. But it wasn't in Mello's nature to remain either civil or at a distance. What he wanted, he took, and he took immediately.

Fretting at a thumbnail, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to see a relief image of Clair wrapped in blankets two rooms down, peaceful and lovely, his small mouth with that godawful gorgeous ring through it slightly open in sleep. From when Mello had first set eyes on the don, he'd found him to be fragile, delicate, yet somehow unyielding. Even when he'd kissed the boy and Clair had—whether or not the young chairman would acknowledge it—kissed him back, that had been no coerced or accommodating kiss. Clair had sought to overpower, to dominate, crushing himself against Mello with such fervor that had the blond not been used to intense situations he might have fallen over. No, there was precious little weakness in Clair Leonelli that wasn't also tempered with iron.

But this was the wrong time, this was the wrong place, he never meant for those honeyed words to come spilling out of his mouth, he never intended to try and stroke the boy's feathery hair; yet Mello was only human, and humans were susceptible to temptation, especially when they lived in the moment like he did. He tried to tell himself that if he had the power to change emotions he would stomp Clair out of his mind or—at the very least—postpone the chase until after Kira was caught. But he also could not deny that were all of his options truly open, he would be hanging onto the boy for dear life.

Or...no, no, that wouldn't be the best possible scenario. Mello gnawed at his thumb a little harder. What he really wanted was for Clair to come to him of his own accord, for Clair to draw him into his arms and rest his head on Mello's shoulders, to conquer and yet surrender since it was what Mello had wanted all along...Mello had never let anyone else get the better of him before and if anyone could do it in a way he'd enjoy, it would be Clair...

Oh hell, just _looking_ in the damn room wouldn't hurt anything. Standing in sudden resolution, Mello tossed Clair's dry shirt down onto the sofa and swaggered down the hall, breath held in tightly in anticipation and secrecy. There was no reason to be nervous. Mello did not get _nervous_. Reaching out a hand, he turned the knob and opened the door.

He could barely make out the sleeping boy's silhouette at first, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he made his way to the side of the bed and stared down, smiling. It couldn't have been more perfect even in his imagination: Clair pouted in his sleep. Mello fought back the urge to bend down and kiss the young man's furrowed brow.

"What are you dreaming about, Vampire?" he whispered, barely even giving breath to his words. "Are you thinking of me?" Courage growing by the minute—not, Mello reminded himself, that he had ever been afraid to begin with; after all, he had been in charge of this thing from the beginning—he lifted one of Clair's pale hands and stroked it gently, feeling the hard lump of the ring the boy always wore under his fingers.

Bending the hand up, he noticed the purple nail polish. "Oh, what's this?" he mouthed, enjoying his one-sided conversation. "You're still pretty for me. I like that." Leaning over carefully, he kissed the youth's hand gently.

Limp fingers suddenly contracted. "Caught you," Clair accused, his eyes snapping open and pulling his other hand out from under the covers. A clicking sound, and Mello found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun; too late he noticed the open bedside table drawer and cursed his oversight.

Still, he kept his lips on Clair's hand for a moment longer, drawing back but not yanking his own hand away. "Now what?" he asked, unable to keep a grin off his face that felt, if anything, even better than the adoring little smile he'd worn upon seeing that pout. Yes, Clair Leonelli was definitely one to watch. This was good, this was excellent, this was what he'd been looking for. His life had gotten too predictable of late, and this amazing child—Mello was nearly a year younger than the don, but he could not help considering him a child—was just the person to spice it back up for him.

Clair sat up, pulling Mello close to him and grinding the gun into the blond's forehead; for his part, Mello barely blinked or winced as the hard metal circle pressed into his skull. "I thought you might come looking," the don said in a low voice, rotating his wrist so the gun dug even further, "but I should have known you wouldn't have the self-control to leave it at that. Animals like you—trash who can't even maintain human decency or keep a promise—if you can't rule yourself, how will you rule others? I told you before I don't suffer idiots. And this was supremely idiotic."

"You haven't gotten any sleep, then?" Mello _tsk_ed, shaking his head slightly despite the pressure from the gun barrel. "However will you handle your busy day tomorrow?"

Clair's face darkened in suspicion. "Do you honestly think I'm enough of a fool to sleep with you around?"

"If you can't trust me, then I can't trust you," Mello countered, rotating his hips so he ended up perched on the mattress. A plan had begun to form in his mind that agreed with him immensely; if properly executed, it would return Vampire-employee relations to civility as well as teaching the spoiled boy something of the world he believed he ruled. First things first, however. "Though if you're going to be up all night anyway..." he began to suggest.

Eyes widening, Clair's finger tightened on the trigger; his gritted mouth stretched wildly.

Laughing, Mello snapped his hand free from Clair's fingers and, wringing it out, backed to the door. "Very good, Vampire. I kid. But I would suggest closing your eyes sometime tonight, since I'm going to need you to run a few little errands for me while you're in the area. Nothing special, just a little coercive negotiation. There might even be fireworks. I hear you like them."

Glowering, Clair sunk under the covers but kept the gun peeking out. "You are taking me to my _house_ tomorrow," he informed Mello. "Do you have any idea how many men must be combing the city looking for me by now?"

"That's taken care of easily enough." Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Mello switched it on; he hadn't bothered after hanging up on Matt the previous night. "Look at that. Five messages, and they're all from Matt. I wonder why?" Dialing, he held the phone to his ear. "Yo. Hey, talk slower. No, it's cool. I've got him." A chuckle rolled off his lips. "Well, well, wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm a very good shot," Clair threatened from where he lay.

"I'm sure you are, dear. No, not you. I'd never call you 'dear.' He's trying to talk to me while I'm talking to you, which is _very_ rude, by the way." Mello gave Clair a sidelong look, then turned his attention back to the phone. "Nah, I'm listening. I know. But I'm borrowing him for the case tomorrow. No, he's fine with it..."

"Give me that!" Lunging out of the bed, Clair made a mad grab for the phone, screaming something about coming to take him home immediately, but he miscalculated and ended up ramming into Mello instead. Caught off-guard, the blond stumbled and fell, and both boys fell to the ground in a dust-shaking tangle of black-clad limbs and clawing painted fingernails.

Clair straddled Mello on the chest, one hand pressed into the blond's windpipe and the other forcibly wrenching the phone loose; he'd dropped the gun in his dash. "Matt? Matt? Damn!" Punching in a number while white rage roiled on his face, he heaved a shuddering breath and spoke. "Giovanni? It's me. I want to go home right now. No, I don't know the address. Get Matt to tell you."

"Don't tell him, Matt!" Mello yelled hoarsely; Clair snarled and, forgetting even the phone in his anger, grabbed Mello by the throat with both hands and pressed down as hard as he could. Mello's back arched in agony; he tried to cough but merely sputtered; his legs kicked and scrabbled on the floor; and he grabbed Clair's wrists and, shuddering, tried to wrench the young don's hands off of him. It didn't work: spite and hate lent his attacker new strength.

Sweat dripped down Clair's face as he pushed even harder, grinning an awful smile in his rage. Finally—after Mello's eyes stared at him almost pleadingly—the boy's head lolled back and his legs were still. Clair couldn't see his chest move anymore.

Standing shakily and backing away, Clair panted and shook, adrenaline still powering his system and yet overloading it. "S-serves you right," he spat at the silent figure on the ground; then, as Mello made no sign of responding, a stab of fear shot up his spine. Had he really...? Was Mello actually...?

He sat down, hard, on the bed, horribly aware of whose clothes he was wearing and what he'd just done. Why did everything involving this damned boy end so contrary to the way he wanted? Well, now at least that problem was solved. Mello wouldn't be bothering him anymore.

A laugh sounded through the room; it took several seconds for Clair to realize he had produced it. More laughter followed, desperate and tinny, until he couldn't even sit upright and had to flop back on the bed, holding his stomach in awful mirth until he himself was breathless. It was all over. Finally. He had done it! He had finally won. And as long as he kept laughing, the fear would stay far, far away.

"You sound...like a retarded hyena," someone rasped from the floor, coughing and hacking between the words. "D-damn it. You are a l-lousy guest."

Clair cursed as well, though the emptying feeling gushing through his body more closely resembled relief. "I was careless," he told the twitching figure on the ground. "I should have used the gun too."

"I like you careless," Mello responded, still mainly breathless but too stubborn to forgo speaking. Clair waited for the no-doubt-imminent joke about also liking rolling on the floor with him, but it never came. Had he really taught the blond his lesson, then? "G-give me a second. I'll take you home."

"You'll get me killed in that condition," Clair pointed out, but Mello shook his head, massaging his wounded throat and placing his own fingertips over the marks Clair had left.

"Naw, I'm fine...I can drive and all...but I only got one helmet..."

Clair frowned and felt around in the bed for the gun.

"Here." Mello held up the weapon and tried to stand, but his legs gave out. Rotating his neck, an expression of extreme pain spasmed across his face. "Hold on. Give me--"

Reluctantly Clair stepped away from the bed. "...Lie down," he muttered. "You shouldn't be moving in that condition."

Mello gave him a doubtful look, but Clair insisted, taking him by the arm and guiding him to the mattress. "I'll get Giovanni and Matt to pick me up if they haven't left already," he told the blond as Mello climbed into bed. "By the time you wake up, I'll be long gone." Rest was starting to sound pretty good to him, too; before he had merely been drowsy from depression and the rain, but now he was outright exhausted.

"S-sounds good," Mello replied shakily, closing his eyes. "Here. In case...you still don't trust me." He pressed the gun into Clair's hand. "I guess this is goodbye, huh?"

"What?"

"You won't want me around after this. That's how it goes. I say something stupid and have to leave. Happens every time." He smiled. "I'll catch Kira on my own."

"As long as you've learned your lesson, you can stay," Clair said through a lump in his throat. His father had done this once, he recalled: kept on a man who had been embezzling Company funds. After publicly humiliating the man, Papa had offered a forgiving hand to the traitor, saying that now the scales had been evened again. The man had never strayed again, and even had been allowed to attend the don's funeral. Somehow, though, Clair worried that he wouldn't quite be able to achieve the same effect. "Y-you did this to yourself."

"No, I'm pretty sure..."

Shaking his head, Clair drew a finger across Mello's lips the way the other boy had done to him only that afternoon. "I meant all this," he half-whispered, half-hissed, and noted with some satisfaction the way Mello quivered at the sound and the teasing touch. "I liked you at first, until you started...You defeated yourself." Straightening, he put the gun back in the bedside drawer and shut it. "As long as you remember that, I don't see any further problems. Good night."

" 'Kay," Mello mumbled thickly, burrowing into his pillow. "Give gogglehead my best."

"I will," Clair promised; pausing to pick Mello's cell phone up from the ground, he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. Halfheartedly he dialed and held the phone to his ear.

Fifteen minutes later Giovanni came barreling into the apartment only to find his young master, far from the tortured wreck he'd expected, sitting calmly in his suit and tie on the edge of what had to be the world's ugliest sofa. A neatly folded pile of black fabric lay beside him on the seat, and his face was perfectly expressionless.

"Oh God--" Scooping the boy into a bear hug, protocol and pretense forgotten, Giovanni nearly burst into tears. "You're all right? He didn't hurt you?"

Clair shook his head, leaning on the bodyguard for support. "Just take me home, Giovanni," he ordered, but his heart wasn't in the command. "I've had enough for tonight."


	8. Patience, Eyeballs

I own nothing. Fanfiction, after all, is a communistic endeavor.

**Episode.08: -PATIENCE- (Eyeballs)**

Mauro had actually left the house to wait in the driveway as Giovanni's car pulled up, and Clair sunk even further into his exhausted huddle. Whatever the old advisor had to say, he was far too tired to hear tonight. Not that the old fool would understand that, of course. It was amazing how long the man had spent around his Young Master without gaining even a hint of tact or consideration for his moods. Only that long relationship, coupled with the man's skills and experience, kept the young don from firing him.

Sure enough, no sooner did the car door open than Mauro started talking. "Young Master! Where have you been? Your actions endanger not only our good relations with Rungong, but also your own life!"

"Shut up," Clair said dully, hardly even listening. The man couldn't possibly be human; he had to be clockwork, or perhaps a machine. Wind him the right way, and he'd say the same old things, over and over. How tiring.

Apparently Mauro, too, was good at ignoring people. "Both times you have gone out with one of the ladies the Board selected from you, you have left early and without consideration for them! If you continue to be so discourteous, how will you ever..."

"Without consideration?" Clair asked, arching an exhausted eyebrow. "The one gets bullied by her uncle into flirting with me and the other would rather dance with my bodyguard. What would I have to do to be considerate? Save their lives? If you and all the other old men want me to be considerate, tell the Board to do me and their daughters the same courtesy. They're only disgusting me at this point. Out of my way."

"But where were you?" Mauro insisted. "Aside from a promise that you will behave more like a gentleman, they will want to know that!"

"Fine. I won't ditch any more girls, though I'll act as I see fit otherwise." The old man's eyes bugged out at the pronouncement, and Clair couldn't help cracking a smile. "And I went for a walk and got lost. One of Iwanami's men recognized me and took me in to get me out of the rain."

"I-Iwanami?? He's been dead since--"

"I know he's dead. I didn't say _he_ took me in, did I? If you're going to ask questions, then listen when I decide to answer them!" Clair could practically hear his bed and pillows calling to him, and being halted made him even grumpier. "Where's Rungong's daughter, anyway?"

Giovanni coughed. "Well, see...when we got back to the table and you were gone, I ran out to look for you and she said she'd hold down the fort until I found you. When I returned, she..."

"Had stood you up?" Clair asked wearily.

"Had gone out to look for me too." He looked down. "For all I know, she's still looking. I had other things on my mind."

For a moment, Clair felt almost sorry he'd ruined Giovanni's chances with someone the bodyguard obviously fancied, but quickly decided he was too tired to care. "Ah, well, she'll turn up eventually. Good night."

"Y-young Master!" Mauro sputtered, but Clair finally forced his way past the old man and into the house, only to find Matt waiting for him with an asinine grin on his face.

"Well?" the young man asked expectantly, and Clair shot him a dark glare.

"We. Did. Nothing. And nothing is going to be happening either. It's over." He caught himself. "It never started. Good night."

From the look on Matt's face as Clair plodded away, he didn't believe a word of what he took for an excuse but the young don considered an explanation. He'd be straightened out soon enough, Clair decided, falling at last into his own soft bed, hardwood door locking the world out. What could possibly happen to cement his unfounded suspicions?

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The apartment smelled funny to Matt at first, and as he shut the door behind him and looked around he realized why: it _didn't_ smell. It didn't look like a landfill anymore, either.

"What's going on?" he asked Mello as the blond wandered out of the bedroom—in an apron, of all things--chewing on his customary chocolate bar. "Need to hide the evidence?"

"Nothing happened last night," Mello insisted, tossing a wad of empty candy wrappers into the garbage can. "At least, nothing I'd need to hide. I just felt like cleaning. Is that so wrong?"

"Nah, just weird." Sitting on the couch, Matt frowned. "Wait. What did you do with my clothes?"

"Packed 'em in a suitcase. It's in your old room." Mello jerked his head in the indicated direction. "Why aren't you on duty?"

Matt grimaced. "He's got another date. And this time the old guy won't let him leave early, so I've got loads of time to kill. Soo...how better than with the world's foremost Kira expert?"

"Near," Mello snarled, gnawing on his chocolate like a dog with a bone, "is the world's foremost Kira expert."

"But you're more fun," Matt pointed out, kicking himself mentally for bringing Near up. "Do we still have soda or has the entire place been emptied?"

"Get off your lazy ass and see for yourself," Mello replied gruffly, then broke off, coughing. Frowning, Matt scrutinized his friend. Something didn't seem right.

"You've got bruises on your neck," he finally realized, eyes suspicious behind his goggles. "I thought you said--"

Mello whirled. "He tried to kill me, all right?" he snapped, balling up his chocolate wrapper and tossing it at the garbage can; it bounced off the pile of existing refuse, but he didn't seem to notice. "The scrawny brat strangled me! Happy?"

In anyone else, such an outburst would be indicative of frustration, even of anger or resentment; but Matt knew Mello too well to be deceived. "You knew going in he'd be tough to get," he pointed out, unable to keep from chuckling a bit at the mental imagery of stick-figure Clair throttling anyone, let alone Mello. "There's no point in getting embarrassed about it. And furthermore," he added, stretching out on the sofa, "I think it's a good thing it's over. Nothing good could have come of something like that, and you know it."

A strange gleam came into Mello's eyes. "Who says it's over?" he asked lightly, opening a drawer at random and pulling out another chocolate bar. "I just have to be more careful. In a way, this might even be more fun. I have to keep him from suspecting anything..." He opened a closet and pulled out the vacuum cleaner. "Lift your damn feet off the rug." Matt obliged, but placed the dirty soles of his shoes on the sofa instead. Cleaning, he felt, was a waste of time and effort. Everything would just get dirty again soon enough.

As Mello ran the vacuum across the living room rug, a new thought occurred to his friend. "This is all for him, isn't it?" Matt called over the roar of the cleaner. "He didn't like the way the place looked."

Mello looked away, but the goggled boy could see a telltale blush behind the swinging curtain of sleek blond hair. "...I was just restless," he finally protested. "Maybe he showed me how much of a mess we'd piled up, but I didn't feel like going out today so I didn't have many other choices."

"You could be focused on that case. You know, the one you said you'd solve first and the one about which I've heard practically squat." Matt picked a pack of cigarettes up from the coffee table and lit one. "Not everything has to be for him. Let it go. If he's not into you, he's not into you."

Stopping the vacuum, Mello flopped onto the couch next to Matt and removed his apron, which he draped over the furniture's arm. "You weren't there," he said in the closest thing to a nostalgic tone the other boy had ever heard him use. "You didn't feel it the way I did. He's got it bad—I can't be wrong about that—but he's either too chicken or too cultured or too something to just let things take their course. At first it was fun, but now he's so set on denial pretty soon he might start believing himself. And without that spark, he won't be fun anymore." Sucking in a breath, he bared his teeth. "Which means it's time for me to really start working him."

"You want to get him _back_? Hate to break it to you, but you barely had him to begin with. Though I have to say, you really knocked him for a loop the first day. He had the greatest look on his face when we found him..." Grinning himself, Matt closed his eyes, puffing on his cigarette; then his smile faded. "Hey," he began awkwardly, "do you ever think about what might have happened if...you know, we stayed..."

Mello groaned. "Shut up. Now _there's_ something that wasn't working. Bury the past, would you?"

"See, if you want Vampire you've got to lose that attitude. He lives in the past every damn day." Matt removed his cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke at the ceiling, glad his goggles were hiding half his face from his friend. "Even the whole tux thing...it's been months and he can't see anyone but Ian in this suit. I'm an intruder into Leonelliland, the world's most exclusive theme park. Good luck getting tickets."

"I'll just show him how much more exciting the present can be." Mello stretched his legs out as well, placing his feet in Matt's lap. "As long as he wants me, things can work out."

"You mean as long as _you_ want _him_," Matt said, so softly he didn't think the other boy heard him. Mello didn't understand and, what was more, didn't want to understand. He'd spent so much time running from his own past, afraid to see how much it had affected him, that he couldn't see any other way of living. Matt had known that for years, had learned to deal with the blond's seeming insensitivity. But he'd also seen another Mello—the Mello who took the fall for a friend and claimed to be the one smoking in the dorms, the Mello who cleaned a bachelor pad in an apron because his elitist love interest had turned up his little snubbed nose—who was able to turn even his natural selfishness to thoughtful ends. True, there was always an ulterior motive lurking just behind those jet-black eyes, but sometimes it was the deed, and not the thought, that counted.

Ah, but what was the use of wishing? If Mello said "bury the past," it was already buried. "Getting back to the reason I came--if we ever discussed that to begin with--any Kira-related orders, M?" As a young child Mello had stubbornly declared that, were he to succeed the great detective as was his intention, he would never hide behind someone else's initial. Matt still found the declaration amusing and mocked it whenever possible.

"Actually, yeah. I need you to hack for me."

"Cool. What am I messing with?"

Digging in a pocket of the draped apron, Mello pulled out a wrinkled foil wrapper with something scribbled on one side in black pen. "These guys are going to pull a major heist tomorrow morning and I need the following things about their police and public records changed by then. I'm going to get the major news stations to agree with the switches too."

Matt accepted the wrapper and scanned it, recognizing most of the names as belonging to followers of the late Iwanami, now followers of Mello himself. "Swapping some of the names and photos? Jeez, this is cake. I could do this in my sleep."

"Good. You'll be well-rested to see the results." Mello licked his chocolate bar, a satisfied lion with his kill. "Once I know how much Kira needs to know in order to kill, then we'll really start getting somewhere."

"_If_ he targets these guys. And if he falls for it."

Mello shot Matt a witheringly patronizing look. "I never said it was foolproof, just that I was going to give it a shot. Got a problem with trial and error?"

"Only with the 'error' part." Pushing Mello's feet off his lap, Matt stood, thrusting both the wrapper and the pack of cigarettes into his pocket. "Guess I'll get on it, then. Have fun playing maid. I'm rooting for you, you know."

"Coulda fooled me." Swallowing, Mello stretched. "You were all for my giving up a minute ago."

Matt brushed his bangs out of his eyes and met Mello's gaze. "I'm your friend, man," he said almost plaintively. "If he can make you happy and if you can do the same thing for him...you need somebody like that."

Mello grumbled to himself, embarrassed again. "Whatever. See you around. Oh, and get your stuff out of the bedroom."

"Yes, Mommy." Matt took a detour to grab the suitcase. "Hope your neck feels better."

"Hell, it hardly hurts anymore. Kid's a spitfire but a bit of a shrimp." Mello stood as well, tying the apron back around his slim waist. "Report for me?"

"Yeah, sure. Later." Walking down the hall, Matt began to compose his coming report orally. "'While Kira remains a menace to the general populace, the great and rather soppy detective M solved the much more pressing Mystery of the Pigsty Palace, singlehandedly scrubbing clean a biohazard zone as a part of a grand quixotic dream to seduce--'"

An empty soda can hit him in the back of the head, and he laughed as the door slammed shut behind him. Even if one couldn't live in the past, occasionally it melded with the present. Some things, after all, never changed.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The Special Unit's office was dark, Kyoko and Light having left for the evening, but Near didn't bother getting up to switch the lights back on. His full attention was on the computer screen before him—specifically, on the single Gothic letter emblazoned on that screen.

"...What do you think?" he asked finally after concluding his report. "It hurts my pride to have to call on my first case, but letting my feelings get in the way of this case again is just stupid. As long as Kira is caught and we win, how it occurs doesn't matter."

"Be careful of thinking like that, Near," the person on the other end of the transmission said thickly, as if talking around a mouthful of something soft. "Kira doesn't think like that, and you need to get used to thinking like Kira if you're going to beat him. Kira is selfish, as am I. As is..."

"He's working on this case too, then?" Near asked in mild interest. "It's not like you to let things slip. No, you told me that on purpose to get me to work harder. Too bad I don't care, provided he doesn't get in the way."

"He already has, Near. Be careful about that. But the matter at hand is more urgent. It is my fault your face has been seen, so I apologize for putting you in such a position. I should not have listened to the city director when he said a speculative case like this one was then was the Special Unit's jurisdiction. Yet...you say this Light Yagami is intelligent?"

"Amazingly. He didn't fall for a single trick or even bat an eye."

"You suspect him, then? What made you doubt his intentions?"

"He's too nice," Near said bluntly. "No one that nice is also that smart."

"Unfair, perhaps, yet sadly all too accurate. Do you have any other data?"

"Only that he has happened to be in the right place at the right time far too many times to be coincidence." Although he knew the man on the other end couldn't see him, he looked away. "I get a bad feeling about him, too. It's a stupid reason to suspect a person..."

"Most certainly not. What some call 'instincts' are often in actuality unprocessed data from the other five senses. And, seeing as we have no other leads and he would need to be investigated anyway, I will turn my attention to obtaining information about Light Yagami." The voice broke off to chew on something. "Will a tail be sufficient, or shall I also ask Chief Yagami if we may bug his house?"

Near considered the question for a moment, seeing it as not only a deferral to his authority on the case but also as a test of his aptitude. "...Bugs at this stage would be rude, invasive, and panic-causing," he replied. "Have someone tail him for now, and research him for me. I don't want him finding out I've been looking if he goes combing through the computer."

"Very well. Excellent job so far, Near. I am always here should you need to discuss theories with someone."

"Thank you, but I'll be fine. Enjoy your strawberry cake."

"You can't tell from chewing that I'm eating--"

But Near had terminated the correspondence and was already wandering over to the sofa to lie down. His meals were brought to him by his superior's men, and he wanted to catch a quick nap before dinner to sharpen his mind.

As he lay staring at the ceiling, a toy robot cradled in one arm, a thought occurred to him. "Are you still activated, J?" he asked the darkness.

"I am," replied the machine. "I do not sleep unless Antonia enters the shutdown code."

"What are your impressions of Light Yagami? Your opinion, at least, will not be clouded by emotion."

J whirred a bit to himself, pondering the question. "I am not entirely certain what you mean. Daisuke would have phrased the question differently. But I do know that Light Yagami frequently lies, especially when speaking to Kyoko."

Near sat up. "He does? How can you tell?"

"His heart rate is abnormally fast, indicative of a human engaged in such risky behavior." J paused. "But such an anomaly could also be his normal heart rate or due to attraction on his part towards Kyoko."

"Thank you, J."

"Kyoko's heart rate also goes up when she talks to Light."

"_Thank you_, J." Near closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. Bad enough he'd let his own feelings run rampant already. If his coworkers' emotional impulses couldn't be checked, he'd never get anywhere. The pieces were all set for a grand game, he could tell, and he was beginning to get a hazy idea of his opponent's character and skills.

If only he could figure out the rules.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Clair didn't know where Matt had gone upon dismissal—off to smoke somewhere, he supposed, or maybe even back to the casino to sort through information for Mello. But wherever the goggled boy had gone, it had to be better than the diner booth where the young don found himself. He was now completely convinced that some heavenly Powers were aligned against him—or, at the very least, that the Board was having a good laugh at their young Vampire's expense.

Because his latest date—the one Mauro had called _absolutely necessary_ he not abandon—simply would not shut up.

"They're funny things, socks," Harriet Deacon mused, her plain face reflective as she pondered the ineffability of footwear. "I mean, who first came up with the concept? Now shoes I can see—the first caveman to stub his toe would almost certainly, provided he had the intelligence, have sought a way to remedy the problem. But socks I really cannot fathom. Logically, they must have been created to drive away blisters, but wouldn't shoes with soft insides solve that problem just as well? Perhaps people wore shoes with soft insides until they discovered they smelled more than usual and then they invented socks. Still, it seems rather a lot of bother for a little tube of cloth, and one that's hard to sew on top of that! I used to knit but gave it up because everything turned out lumpy. I suppose that's why I don't mind the fact that you don't seem to be wearing socks with your shoes. Do they have soft insides? It's nice that we didn't have to dress up to come here. I can't stand dressing up; that's why I asked you here instead of one of those nice places I'm sure you go to all the time. But a change of pace is good for you, you know. Besides, those fancy restaurants never give you very large portions, and the food all has funny names. Gee, I'm glad Mr. Arubogasuto asked my father if I'd be willing to represent him. Father doesn't get to do much for Mr. Arubogasuto after he learned to play the piano himself—that puts a musician pretty much out of work, you know, when the boss replaces you. So if you hire musicians, be thoughtful and acquire another hobby. Though I wouldn't recommend knitting. Everything I ever knit turned out lumpy."

At this rate, he'd be twenty before they'd even finished their conversation—maybe even before she'd finished her monologue. "You said that already," he interrupted, feeling boredom practically ooze from his voice the way he felt it secrete from every pore of his body. Honestly, he'd had men shot for less. For a moment Clair contemplated the odds of being able to get Giovanni to lend him a weapon with which to frighten the twit across the table from him into submission. They weren't too high. Ignoring the girl was probably his best bet, then.

"Oh!" Harriet squeaked. "Did I? Repeat myself? I'm always doing that, you know. It's because I don't often remember things very well. Like this morning, I kept repeating your name over and over to myself so I wouldn't forget, but for some reason my mind wanted to call you Kyle. Isn't that silly? Of course, now that I've met you I won't make that mistake again. Once I have a face to put a name with, I never forget again. Besides, you don't look a thing like a Kyle. I'm not sure if you look like a Clair, actually, since I'm not sure what a Clair is supposed to look like, but I suppose you can be the prototype for me then. Of course, it's not very likely that I'll run into another Clair—at least, not one who isn't a girl, but I've never met a girl with your name either. I don't know why; it's a very pretty name. You're very pretty too, if you don't mind my saying that."

She blushed, and Clair felt bile rising in his throat. Under the table, his hands clenched into fists and began trembling. Giovanni coughed and looked away, obviously trying to hide a nervous smile. He received another swift kick in the leg for daring to be amused.

Unabashed and growing ever bolder, the insufferable girl continued. "I don't know what I was expecting you to look like, given that it wouldn't be likely for you to have fangs despite being called 'Vampire', but I have to say I definitely wasn't expecting someone like you. Did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes before? I can't decide if I'm crazy about them because your eyelashes are so lovely or because purple is my favorite color. Come to think of it, though, it's probably because they're that nice gentle shade of lavender. You can tell a lot about a person by their eyes, or so my father says; and he says that's why Mr. Arubogasuto always wears sunglasses, so no one can tell exactly what kind of a person he is. It's bothered me all evening that your tall friend there won't take his sunglasses off either. Isn't that silly? But anyway, I can tell you and I are going to be great friends just by looking at your eyes. They're such a brilliant color, and yet they seem to be hurting at the same time. If there's anything bothering you, feel free to tell me; I keep secrets very, very well, and it's absolutely no imposition on me because I'm dying to learn more about you. Really, you've said hardly a word since we met, but there's no need to be shy. I'm an excellent listener."

"Then you listen here--" Clair began hotly, feeling his face prickling with anger, but Giovanni nudged him and shifted the conversation by removing his dark shades.

"Here you go then, miss," he said with a wide grin as Clair simmered next to him, feeling like he was about to burst into flames any minute and rather enjoying the resulting mental imagery. "Tell me about myself."

Giovanni putting the moves on Rungong's daughter out of obvious infatuation was one thing. Giovanni putting the moves on a freckly square-faced girl Clair's age made Clair feel both betrayed and guilty. For one thing—how _dare_ Giovanni be more at ease and in control of the situation! And yet—how dare he sink so low? Didn't dignity count for _anything_ with the man?

The don had to hand it to his right-hand man, though; the trick worked. Instantly the twit launched into an analysis of Giovanni's character, peppered throughout with fallacies that made Clair feel much, much better about the diagnosis he'd received. He didn't want to consider the idea that he actually possessed "brilliant yet hurting" eyes. Vampire, he felt, should not have such glaring weaknesses.

Of course, if anyone had asked him a week ago he would have said scornfully that Vampire shouldn't have to sit imprisoned in a common diner listening to the airheaded ramblings of an amateur analyst with a sock fixation. He _still_ believed Vampire shouldn't be forced into things against his will...so how on earth had he ended up here?

Because Vampire had a duty to the family, Clair reminded himself sulkily, not feeling very honorable despite his noble ventures into the world of self-sacrifice. Papa had been right for all those years. No matter what, the family came first. He never should have doubted his father to begin with...if he had never questioned, had remained a weak automaton, would he be better at his position now?

Sipping his lemon water—he'd been banned from wine because he was still technically underaged and, unlike the bar, the neutral-zone diner cared about things like that—he felt his lip ring rub up against the glass and smiled slightly. It didn't matter, he realized. He had made his peace with who he was a long time ago and wasn't about to change for anybody. Vampire also, paradoxically, had to have his pride. It was just too bad that he couldn't get his way all the time.

Clair had learned that the hard way, yet having to claw his way back to his rightful perch made his position so much more meaningful. If he'd never been dethroned, he wouldn't be sitting in the diner...but he also would have been sitting on a land mine, a deluded idiot who lied to himself every day of his wasted life playing at being king.

Was that it? he wondered suddenly. Was that what was driving Mello—the struggle to reach the top of the heap, if only to look down and laugh that he'd made it at last? More likely, though, he wasn't _that_ smart. He didn't know like Clair did that freedom decreased, not increased, as one worked a ragged trail upwards, the way the air thinned high up in the mountains. The don vowed that, the next time he encountered his new employee, he would inquire into the matter.

His water glass was drained; only sour lemon juice remained, and Clair chewed lightly on his lips to get rid of the taste. Wait a minute. He didn't give a damn what motivated the blond boy, as long as the boy did his job. And he certainly didn't need to prove his own superiority anymore, now that both parties had acknowledged his leadership. There was absolutely no need to brood over Mello anymore, save when he was making a report on his progress or when, at the end of the line, he would lead into Clair's office a trussed-up, panicked self-established punisher of the Company and Clair would get to savor a few long moments making the guilty party see arrogance was a vice. Getting people to beg for mercy was so much more satisfying when it was later denied them.

He could see Mello's wicked grin so clearly in his mind, could envision the look of elation on his face as he reached the top of his mountain at last—and Clair would celebrate with him, despite knowing the boy had actually achieved nothing. As long as Kira was caught, the world wouldn't care who had done it, and it definitely wouldn't reward a mobster. It all meant nothing in the end. Just like what had happened the past week, he told his fickle "brilliant yet hurting" eyes as they insisted on imagining before him the boy himself in all his edgy, dangerous, intoxicating glory, meant nothing. It was over. He wouldn't be weak again.

"...or no, I suppose I should call you Vampire, shouldn't I? Vampire? Oh dear, are you asleep with your eyes open? It's fascinating how people can do that. I hope I haven't bored you. Boring people are so hard to handle because you can't help but feel sorry for them even as you wish you could be really, truly horrendous to them. Anyway, are you listening? Giovanni and I asked you a question."

Shocked out of his stupor by suddenly being addressed directly, the young don forced his mind back to the present and brought the inane prattle back to the foreground of his thoughts. "You did?" he asked stupidly, not quite ready to relinquish inner solitude just yet, even if staying dazed meant fighting with his own senses and brain.

"A very interesting question," Harriet replied happily, and Giovanni's face fell in a gaunt, almost pitying expression. What had the blasted girl said, anyway? "I asked your friend Giovanni here, who has very nice eyes as well, about all your other dates, just to get a feel for the competition so far, if you know what I mean, and the subject turned to the topic of love. I'm somewhat of an expert on love—in the past four months alone I've had six boyfriends, and there were plenty more before that. Why I can't keep one on is beyond me, especially since we never even get beyond the 'holding hands' stage. It's so awkward, starting out with holding hands and then looking at the person and realizing you'll have to kiss them eventually. You can find out a lot about a relationship by wondering how it would feel to kiss the other person while you're still in the 'holding hands' stage. Anyway, I wanted to know if you've ever been in love, and if you have been, what the other person was like. Certainly you aren't in love now, or else you'd be marrying someone and not looking around blindly—not that I mind, I'm having a splendid time tonight—but if you have been, was it very very nice? And was the other person a good kisser? I've never been kissed and it's so frustrating, especially since I'm an expert in the field, so to say." She blinked as a thought occurred to her, and Clair felt a momentary pang of surprise that she actually appeared to not only possess a brain, but also seemed to be in the process of using it. "Or—oh, dear—is that too personal? I don't know about men, but for girls the first kiss is very important and secret and special. I'm sure lots of girls have wanted to kiss you before. Who could look at those eyes and not want to hold you close? They're so lovely. Your eyes, I mean, though I mean no disrespect to the other girls. It's just that I've never seen them, while I've been staring at your eyes--"

"There haven't been any other girls," Clair interrupted harshly, averting said eyes before he could hear how long this menace to civilized society had been ogling them. "And I've never been in l-love."

He would spend the rest of his evening riveted to her every dull, repetitive, syrupy word as a result of that response, having found that even having his brain numbed to near hibernation had its advantages. Being unable to think distracted himself from pondering why he'd stuttered.


	9. Crazy, Duplicity

There's no Special Unit in this chapter—at least, no Special Unit-only scenes, so I apologize to Near, Kyoko, and Light's fans. They do plenty next time, I assure you.

Also, I use quite a bit of verbatim dialogue from DN canon in here. The tape, therefore, is even less mine than everything else.

**Episode.09: -CRAZY- (Duplicity)**

The creature watched in silence as the girl, humming slightly off-key to herself, applied her makeup in the mirror. Next to the blonde girl's kneeling legs, a black notebook lay open with a pink pen still sitting in the crease; a single page had been filled with names and stipulations. Rereading the entries, the creature sighed. Wherever this was heading, she didn't like it. "There's no going back, you know," she pointed out. "He could want to kill you for fear you'll let slip his secret."

The girl blinked, but her confidence never wavered; she picked up a brush and began to play with her hair. "Of course I'm sure. Even if I weren't, I can't go back now that everything's written in. And I don't think he'll try to kill me, even if he feels threatened. I've got the eyes, after all. I can be of use to him. He'll totally let me help."

The creature felt like sighing again; her spirits sank even lower. The crimes the girl had committed were done, she felt, out of innocence; yet the idolized murder was likely far more consciously callous. There were so many things that could go wrong. And yet...if it made _her_ happy, how could the creature argue?

Standing up suddenly, the girl checked the clock on her desk and rooted around on the floor for her shoes. Finding them, she buckled them on and stood, grabbing her purse and stashing the notebook under her mattress for safekeeping. "I almost forgot about my appointment," she explained to the creature. "You should've reminded me, Rem."

"That's not my job," the creature protested. "Who is it with this time? The movie agency?"

The girl shook her head, then had to check her hair in the mirror one more time to make sure it still looked fine before breezing out the door; the creature followed. "Some big boss in the higher-ups of the company. Everybody seems scared of him, but his memo to me was really nice. Apparently out of all the models, he's picked me to audition for this gigantic role that he'll explain today." She giggled. "I'm really excited. If this goes through, he says, this role could last a lifetime!"

Wearily watching the numbers only she could see floating above the girl's head, the creature gave another inward sigh. Any flippant comments about lifetimes made by this particular human were far, far too ironic.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Although he would have liked nothing better than a decent-sized respite from female silliness in Harriet Deacon's wake, Clair's next date had commitments in the evening and thus needed to meet with him earlier. For some reason, Mauro insisted that Clair host the young lady in one of the don's own dining rooms-- "as an extra courtesy," he explained, but Clair translated the phrase mentally to mean "so you have absolutely nowhere to run to." He spent his morning preparing for the worst, determined not to take any more humiliation or discomfort at the hands of a few vapid members of the supposedly fairer sex.

Yet, try as he might, it was yet again impossible to assert himself around the woman across the table from him. At least this one wasn't boring, though that was all that could be said about her without descending into rudeness. Clair didn't mind being rude on most occasions, but this particular person was absolutely...indescribable.

"You mean you don't eat...worms?" Saucer eyes lined with bright green eyeshadow stared at him from a too-tanned face and a ratty mop of badly-dyed purple hair, a small voice spoke almost tremulously. "But they're so much...fun. Especially...raw, if you don't chew, because then they wriggle all the way down." She took a large bite of her salad, the steak on which she had also ordered rather raw, and chewed with her mouth open. "I don't understand why you've never tried."

"Do you want this lunch to last as long as your relatives expect it to?" Clair asked, every sensibility in his body offended; Giovanni's face had taken on a strange tint at the mention of raw worms and he smiled faintly in acknowledgment of his employer's point.

The teenaged girl—Clair hadn't even bothered to remember her name—shrank backwards. "Why won't it last? Are we in danger? I guess we'd better hide, then." Sliding down in her chair, she disappeared under the table.

"Giovanni," Clair ordered, nearly squirming himself, but as the bodyguard bent over to retrieve the girl, a wiry hand grabbed the don's ankle and yanked. Clair kicked; she yelped; Giovanni groaned and hauled her to her feet.

Staring timidly at him with wide, teary eyes, the girl whimpered, "You didn't need to do...that. I was trying to help."

"Don't you _dare_ touch me," Clair replied, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her towards him; then, grimacing, he let go just as suddenly, wringing his hand out as a sticky substance clung to his palm.

"It's...honey," the girl explained as he tried to wipe his hand off. "It attracts helpful spirits."

What was _wrong_ with this person? Clair stared in mute rage and revulsion, then stalked off to the bathroom to wash off his hands. There was no use in being unnerving right back; the freak would likely take his wide stares and crazed eyes for normal behavior. Long used to a not-entirely-unfounded reputation for mental instability, Clair had learned to use his quirks to his own advantage against those who prided themselves on their "normality", though what that meant he'd never been able to discover. He wasn't sure how to handle someone whose wires didn't connect properly.

Scrubbing his palm free of honey, he caught a haggard glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror and growled at it. He didn't want anyone watch him not know how to handle things, even if the watcher was himself. Could he just stay in the bathroom and not face the girl again?...or, better, could he possibly get away with kicking her out? It was his house, after all, and he was supposed to be making the rules.

No, expelling her was childish. It remained in his power, however, to ignore the monster for the remainder of their luncheon and then make several rather threatening phone calls to the up-and-coming family that had sent her his way afterwards. Oh yes, he would enjoy talking to whoever was responsible for this.

Reemerging, Clair sat back down and glowered at his guest, who he had just noticed was sitting cross-legged in her chair, but there was already someone in his own seat.

"Who invited you?" he asked roughly as Mello, mouth stuffed with salad, turned and nodded to the don in greeting. "Giovanni..."

The bodyguard sighed. "Matt let him in, and I figured you wouldn't mind since..." He jerked his head slightly, but enough to indicate the purple-haired female.

Eying that magnificent specimen of humanity as she piled her broccoli into a pyramid in the opposing place at the table, Clair took a seat next to the blond. "I don't. He's just eating my food."

"Oh, it's yours?" Mello swallowed, smiling, and pushed the plate over to his employer. "Sorry about that. You'll need new silverware." He sucked on the fork, then put it down. "And your salad dressing needs help."

"Sure," Clair agreed noncommittally as Giovanni fetched him another table setting and wandered off to the kitchen to order Mello some food as well. "What are you doing here?"

Mello unwrapped a chocolate bar, ignoring the protests from across the table that if he ripped the foil, she couldn't put it in her savings for when common currency became unstable and even the slightest bits of metal would become invaluable. "I got the dirty bastard," he replied cockily, licking his candy like a child with an ice cream cone in summer. "Well, I didn't catch him, but I tricked him."

"Kira?" Clair asked; Mello snorted.

"No, Boma the werewolf. Of course I mean Kira. You know how Matt and I screwed with some names and faces on that heist I ordered? Check this out." He pulled a newspaper clipping from his back pants pocket and spread it out on the table. "Some of the guys died last night, but only the ones I didn't mess with in any way. If the name or the face was wrong, nothing happened. So either Kira figured out I was setting him up and somehow knew what I'd changed, or he tried to get everybody but could only affect those whose names and faces were accurate. Doesn't help us a whole lot, since both names and faces are available to the police, but at least it's something. Plus now he knows there's somebody out to get him for sure. It'll be interesting to see what he does from there."

"It certainly will," Clair mused, skimming the article, but his concentration was interrupted by a throaty sob from the other side of the table.

Eyes once again teary and her face already streaked by running makeup, the girl sniffled slightly. "Are you two...trying to go against Kira?"

Mello flicked her an angry glance. "What, it's something to you?" he snapped. "You're here, so you've got Mob connections. If we want to stop the whole Company from getting picked off, what's your problem?"

"You've got it all wrong," the girl replied softly. "Kira didn't remove the others because they were...unworthy, not because you changed...things. Let me...explain. It all has to do with the...Celestials almost refusing the ceremony last year."

Clair had decided it would be merciful for all parties involved to try and not listen to whatever was coming next, but at the mention of the Celestials he sat up a little straighter. Mello caught the adjustment and also paid attention.

Glad to have a rapt audience at last, the girl continued. "The Celestials are...still mad at us, and they want...to rain fire down on Judoh and destroy...all living things, for they are tired of always...traveling and want to move in here. But the missing Celestial...went out among the humans and has decided...to oppose his wicked comrades, so he is removing the truly righteous from our midsts. It only shows...how warped humanity has become, that all those he is saving are those we label...criminals. The rogue Celestial of last year...is Kira."

Unable to hold it in, Clair laughed out loud, his normal manic giggle tinged with derisive amusement. "Kira?! That idealistic airhead? Oh, please!" He had to prop his head up with one hand, pitched his voice in mimicry of the man he remembered. "'Everyone was feeling happiness. They are all good people.' That's not even funny, that's just pathetic!" Nonetheless he kept laughing. It felt good to finally have something concrete with which to combat the bizarre notions hovering around his strange companion's mind.

Mello chuckled slightly too, shaking his head slightly at the confused expression on the doomsayer's face. "So Vita was involved in that little disaster. I thought so."

Clair's laughter broke off. "You've been watching that long?"

"Since you became Vampire, give or take. I didn't really get a chance to move until Iwanami died and everyone panicked during the coup." He bit off the corner of his chocolate bar. "And _still_ I wasn't fast enough to help blow Noriega off the map!"

Apparently they'd once again reached a topic on which the third party at the table could speak. "Noriega...wasn't human, you know. He was a machine...created by a rogue robotics specialist living in Siberbia. To bring about the downfall...of the modern political system."

Clair and Mello stared at each other, grappling with an internal battle that both lost: they burst out laughing again.

"Oh, he wasn't a machine," Clair corrected, wiping bleary eyes with a napkin when he regained enough composure to speak; somehow he and Mello had ended up leaning on each others' shoulders for support, but he didn't move just yet, finding the position strangely comfortable. "He bled. Aren't I right, Giovanni?"

"He's right, little lady," Giovanni replied, cracking the knuckles on his gun hand in fond recollection. "Senator Noriega most _definitely_ bled."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Six hours later they were still laughing about it.

"Hey," Mello asked as he sorted through some printouts, "if she'd stayed to dinner too, what would she have said about, say...Matt?"

"Why me?" the boy in question asked angrily as Clair, switching on his television and sitting down to watch the news in Mello's Kira-hunting headquarters, yawned. It had been a long day even after his date had left to prepare for the Apocalypse; there had remained all the progress reports he'd ignored over the past half-week to sort through and reply to. Mind-numbing though the work had been, Mello had for some reason decided to stay and help the young don wade through the onerous task, and Clair found that with someone ridiculing his underlings with even more venom than even he usually injected into his appraisals, the work became almost enjoyable. And now, at last, they were done.

Both other boys ignored their goggled companion, though he repeated his query; nor did they attempt to come up with a suitable conspiracy with which to drape his figure. "Are they all like that?" Mello asked, collapsing next to Clair on the loveseat. "The girls, I mean?"

Clair sniffed. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to get married anyway."

"Independence is too valuable?"

"I just don't like people." Clair closed his eyes and leaned his head back, rotating it to get rid of the kinks in his neck. "Almost all of them are idiots."

"Oh, well, _thanks._ Here, you want me to get that?" Mello reached out a hand to massage Clair's shoulders. "Or is that..."

"You know the consequences," Clair replied stiffly, and turned his body so Mello could place both hands on his shoulders. The day had gone smoothly so far—no funny looks, no sly comments, nothing that indicated the boy had ever been attracted to the young don. But another test couldn't hurt. Before deciding he liked Mello again, Clair wanted to be certain he wasn't being tricked.

"If I dig too hard, yell." Mello began to rotate his fingers into the tight muscles around Clair's neck. Oh, that felt _good_. Clair sighed and relaxed, lazily letting his arms fall to his sides. Maybe he should ask Mello to come over every evening, or just for the blond to teach Giovanni how to give a proper massage...

Tense fingers bit and squeezed, and Clair's eyes snapped open. "What are--" he began angrily, upset at being jolted out of his reverie, but Mello ignored him, attention riveted on the television. Turning his attention to the screen as well, Clair suddenly understood what had made the other boy react so violently.

"_...From the predicted deaths on the first tape," _the announcer on the television explained, "_we have concluded that the sender of these videos was none other than Kira."_

"Holy shit!" Matt dropped down next to Mello, ignoring the fact that the loveseat was only built for two and so forcing Mello to squish Clair up against the arm. "Should I get the guys on it?"

"Yeah," Mello mumbled, taking a numb mouthful of chocolate, "send four guys. That should be enough, unless the cops beat us there. And make sure they're armed. We want to make sure we get the tapes..."

"_The time is now 5:59 p.m. You are now going to see Kira's video."_

As Matt barked instructions into a cell phone and Mello's teeth slowly worked his chocolate bar into a sticky pulp, Clair watched from his squashed position as the television screen became obscured by static, the only visible forms being four badly penned Gothic letters: _KIRA. _A garbled voice began to speak, and the young chairman frowned. _This_ was the Kira against whom Mello had only recently been able to procure some information?

"_I am Kira,"_ the voice declared. _"If this video is aired exactly at 5:59 p.m. on January 28th, it is now 5:59 and 38, 39, 40 seconds...Please switch channels to Bay Area TV. The news anchor there, Mr. Kazuhiko Hibima, will die of a heart attack at precisely 6 p.m."_

Matt picked up a remote control and switched on another one of the televison monitors just in time to see the man collapse; he moved to turn it back off but Mello grabbed the remote from him. "Leave it on...I want to see what everyone does about this..."

The voice kept speaking, claiming the anchor deserved to die for referring to Kira as "evil", and predicted the death of yet another official. Matt switched on a third set and kept it on as the body was carried out. Clair felt a trickle of sweat begin to run down his face, and it wasn't just from being pressed between Mello's body and the side of the loveseat. This was it...this was real. Kira was really killing people without touching them. So anyone whose real name was in the police database was...he could lose so many people...

Kira kept talking, elaborating on how he planned on creating a just, ideal society and how much he hated evil, and Clair felt like clapping his hands over his ears—or better, reaching into the set and somehow pulling out the dirty hypocrite to deal with as he pleased. So Kira wanted to be justice, did he? Kira wanted a stable, safe society? Well, who did Kira think kept all the thugs and wild men from running rampant across Judoh? The city needed him, needed Vampire and Vita and the whole organization enforcing order...they were their own justice. What did they need with some outsider's?

"_I can do it. I can change the world and make it into a place inhabited by only good, kind-hearted people..."_

And on top of all that, Kira was an idiot! Clair refused to be bested by an idealistic, contradictory idiot. He'd almost lost to a self-serving idiot once. To lose to one who claimed to win for the benefit of all mankind would be the ultimate humiliation.

"Catch this guy, Mello," he said, his chest tight with smothered emotions. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to blow something up. He wanted Kira to look up, see him, and know he wouldn't take such a challenge lying down. He wanted...

Mello shoved Matt off the couch roughly and moved over so Clair wasn't nearly falling off. "Hang on," he told the young don, eyes still riveted on the television. "Soon we'll have all the tapes and...see, there's our car now..."

One of the other television stations, anticipating some sort of reaction, had quickly erected a crew outside of J-TV's main office, and Clair could very plainly see four men run up and draw their guns at the locked doors. No sooner did they raise their weapons, though, than all four fell to the ground and were still. The reporters went wild.

So did Matt. "What the--?! Goddamn it! He got them! He was there, and he got them! Why didn't we think of--"

"Because he shouldn't be able to." Mello's concentration was so absolute he seemed almost hypnotized by the screens before him. "Not according to what happened this morning...but looking at this, I'd say all he needs is a face...but why bluff in the morning if he's going to pull something like this at night..." Sloppily he tried to bite his chocolate bar but ended up smearing half of it across his face. "And here come the police...and down they go..."

The officers stepping out of the patrol car were indeed now writhing on the pavement. The irony nearly killed Clair: as he watched the men die, Kira kept speaking._ "Are the police ready to work with me in creating a just city? Their answer to this question will be announced tomorrow, on January 29th, at the top of the six o'clock nightly news. Starting at 6:10 p.m., this station will air one of two videos—one if the police say 'yes' to my proposal, and the other if the police say 'no.' If it is an official police announcement, no spokesperson--"_

But even Kira's voice was drowned out in the clamor coming from the television set showing the entrance to J-TV: a large cloud of steam billowed from a hole in the doors, clearing in time to show a tall man in a trenchcoat running down the hall. Matt objected to this change of events violently.

"What—so this guy can make it but ours can't? Who the hell is that, anyway? That glass had to be at least four inches thick--"

As Kira's video faded to dull static, Clair found that despite his rage he was laughing once again. He'd recognized the silhouette of the giant thundering down the hall, leaving only a howl and a billowing cloud behind him. Life worked in strange, strange ways sometimes. But at the same time, was it really so surprising?

"I found out who Near's working for," he informed the tense blond boy next to him with a smirk. "And he's got something we don't. His best man can't die."


	10. Embrace, Woman

**Episode.10: -EMBRACE- (Woman)**

Light was in the kitchen, washing off the dishes for his mother, when the words "held hostage by Kira" came drifting from the next room. Immediately setting down the plate he'd been preparing to place in the washer, he strode briskly to join the rest of his family clustered around the television set. Given his druthers, he would have been upstairs watching the news in his room, but to retreat to privacy when the same program ran downstairs would have seemed suspicious.

"What's going on, Dad?" he asked, sitting down next to the older man, who shook his head.

"They say Kira is making them play the tape..." He broke off as the word "Kira" flashed onto the screen and a garbled voice began speaking.

Watching the video, Light could barely keep from bursting with anger. Who was this person, and what were they playing at?...this person, who dragged Kira's image through the mud by killing innocents on live television...this complete and total idiot; who'd asked for their help anyway?...he didn't need the police on his side, the police were useless against the people he was combating; that was why he had taken the burden upon himself...this person had no idea what they were doing, and as a result every step he'd taken towards his goal might be erased!

He wished he could turn around and get the creature behind him to stop laughing. Surely Ryuk, who had nothing better to do all day than study his behavior, must now be sensing his agitation and enjoying it. Some days he felt like little more than a diversion for the bored Shinigami, and it rankled him, but compared to the power he'd gained it was more than a fair trade-off.

In the middle of the broadcast, Light's father's cell phone rang; after speaking briefly into it he headed out of the room. "Several officers just died outside the station, on the heels of some civilians who'd attempted to break in before. I have to get to the station."

Light's head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'just died'? They arrived and then just fell over? Dad, I'm coming with you to the station, I want to help--"

His father shook his head. "No, Light. The fact that you've been visiting the Special Unit office is already too much. I don't want you getting involved in this."

Ryuk sounded like he was going to choke from laughing too hard. Light tried his hardest to ignore him and instead focused back on the video. Officers killed on the scene? But that could only mean...it was too bad this person was an idiot, really. They endorsed Kira, and they had the eyes. Was it worth trying to find them in order to gain their support, or would they only drag down his cause even further? He couldn't let Near find them first, that was a definite...so then he had to make contact with them without their learning his own identity, while keeping Near at a distance; fortunately the pale boy seemed passive enough to let things play out at least until the police gave their answer, thinking things over but not making any moves...

The phone rang again, this time the family's land line; Light's father picked it up on his way out. "Yagami residence?...yes, he's here..." He handed the phone to Light. "I don't know who it is."

For a brief second of panic Light wondered how the second Kira had found him so quickly, but his more realistic mind wrested control from his paranoia almost immediately and he coolly spoke into the receiver. "Hello?"

"It's me," said a light, childish voice: Near. Checking up on him, then? Making sure he wasn't anywhere whence he could be killing people outside of J-TV? Clever, Near, but the boy was on the wrong track. "Have you been watching the six o'clock news?"

"Yeah, I've been watching it with my family," Light replied. "My dad's on his way to the station right now, though. You caught him just in time if you want me to go with them and tell them what you want their response to be--"

"Don't be an idiot, please. I know this move is unexpected of Kira, but there is no need to make useless suggestions in the heat of a crisis. J is procuring all the necessary evidence from J-TV as we speak." A brief clatter was heard, and Light wondered what the young boy was playing with this time. Other, more important differences aside, the neat freak in Light felt appalled by the chaos Near always seemed to strew about him. Hopefully the same carelessness would be applied to the case, though the fastidious young man highly doubted it. "I shall be reviewing all the tapes and performing an analysis of the packaging in which they arrived first thing tomorrow morning and I want you to be there."

"I've still got school," Light protested, knowing he would be overruled; but the 'model student' had to maintain his front. "Did you know that police officers--"

"I don't care about things like your attendance record. And as for your second question: yes, I know they're dead. Several people who beat them there have died as well. This seems to indicate that Kira only needs a face to kill. I find that very odd." Near fell silent, as if something else about the situation troubled him more, and Light frowned. It had to be the civilian deaths; those were grating on him as well. Were there really such reckless would-be heroes drifting stupidly through society? Or was someone else out to get Kira, someone with manpower to burn? Company Vita very likely wasn't taking the attack lying down, especially not given their current leadership. Were they, then, showing themselves as active players in the game at last?

As Near reiterated his command to report to the Special Unit office first thing the next morning, Light cast a last glance at the badly lettered sign still illuminating the television set and allowed himself a small smile. He'd managed to procure some valuable information from this disaster. Perhaps this person wasn't such a useless idiot after all.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Damn," said Mello, switching off the television set and lying back on the loveseat at last. "I'm going to run out of guys if this keeps up. Any chance you've got some spares, Vampire?"

"Not that I hate enough to give to you yet," Clair replied, settling back into the small sofa as well. "Though if the Board continues to insult me with the array of females they offer..."

"Nah, killing your Board is _just_ what Kira wants to do," Mello replied, licking gobs of melted chocolate from the nearly-empty foil wrapper. "Or more importantly, what he won't do immediately. He's targeting you, but he's smart. He knows what would happen if he killed all the kingpins, so he's robbing you of your power base first."

"How dimwitted do you think I am?" Clair asked, slightly irritated by the blond's stating the obvious; Mello waved a placating hand in reply.

"Simmer down, Vampire; I didn't mean it like that." He bit his lip, somewhat agitated himself. "You said you know the big guy?"

It was Clair's turn to feel his companion was a dimwit. "He's a machine that works for the Special Unit," he said almost offhandedly. "We've...crossed paths before."

A catlike smile slid onto Mello's face. "I thought that might have been it. Well, well. The Special Unit. Guess I'll just have to wait and see what they do with the tapes. Something tells me they won't want to share."

"Does it even matter what was on them?" Matt asked. "They'll have to air one eventually anyway, and there's no way the police will agree to Kira's terms."

Mello blinked. "Say that again."

"There's no way the police..."

"No, the last part."

"I was _getting_ to that," Matt pointed out testily. "Kira's terms?"

"Exactly!" Mello pointed at his friend, something dawning on his face. "This Kira claims to have terms! This Kira wants to cooperate with the police, and thus, this Kira is _stupid_! Hell, this Kira's even shown himself! This Kira _isn't_ the one we've been dealing with! But he's still dangerous..." He ground his teeth, out of chocolate and obviously grated by the situation. "Matt, I want you on date duty from now on."

Clair had been trying to follow Mello's train of thought but was still a few cars behind. "A second Kira?" he asked critically. "You can't say that for sure. And why Matt?"

"Is there something wrong with me?" Matt contested, affronted; but both other boys ignored him, excited sparks practically flying as they spoke.

"Yeah, Matt; we work better together, not to mention some other handy tech stuff he can do at short notice to procure evidence. Plus he doesn't _look_ like a bodyguard so he can blend into crowds, and I think this Kira will fall for that. I'm going to keep saying 'this Kira' because let's face it: all that stuff I said about the Board not dying under the original? This one ain't that bright. Kira number one was a long-term nuisance, but you're in big trouble with this guy loose."

"Because he doesn't understand what the original Kira is after and so might go after bigger prey?" Clair leaned closer to Mello, who reciprocated. "But what's this one after, then?"

Chewing on his lip in lieu of chocolate, Mello explained. "Well, he likes Kira, so I'm guessing he just wanted to help Kira out and botched the whole damn thing. I mean, killing news reporters? That's too antagonistic and very un-Kira. But he apparently just needs a face to kill, regardless of if the original Kira needs a name too or not...if both only need a face, he's at least just blown the original Kira's bluff regarding the guys I messed with.

"In any case, let's take this one Kira at a time. This guy's thrown himself in our way; let's use that. After all, Kira the First may assert himself to try and rein the shithead on TV in. Of course, we could always do that ourselves..." Mello reached a hand up as if he wanted to touch Clair's face, so tantalizingly close to his own, but at the last second he retracted it. "But we're playing with fire and I've gotta keep you from getting burned to a crisp. So...Matt on dates, and no going anywhere that Vita doesn't control. I want to know everyone around you is on your side at all times."

Clair smiled disdainfully. "Protecting me?" he asked skeptically; Mello shrugged.

"Protecting myself. If you die, the city gets shot to hell and I'm out of a job. So no big shows to try and provoke this new guy just because he's an idiot, okay? Let's pretend we think it's still the same Kira and see what he does next. I want to know what the police do, too." He smiled. "Got it?"

A retort had been forming on Clair's lips, threatened by the way the blond had so totally commandeered the situation, but at the sight of that smile it dissolved and he could only smile in return, though the smile was cruel and hard. This was why he'd hired Mello, right? So Mello could take care of Kira for him? In matters regarding Kira, he had to give Mello what he wanted. "All right," he agreed. "Let's wait and see what he does next. But in the meantime, only contact me by phone from now on. Don't show your own face. If I have to be careful, that goes for you, too."

Mello cocked his head. "Protecting _me_ now?" he asked almost coyly, that infuriatingly dangerous, exciting smile still in place. Clair had to look away to hide a flush in his cheeks, standing up as he did so and furiously ordering himself to behave. That was _over_. He had spent a perfectly nice afternoon with Mello, and nothing had happened. There was absolutely no reason to get embarrassed or flustered around him anymore. The cat-and-mouse game had ended.

"I'm protecting myself too," he informed the boy without turning around to face him again, the results of such a motion shrouded in nameless fear of the consequences. "If you die, I'll have no one else capable of catching Kira. I don't want to have to do that myself. It might get boring."

A rustling sound behind him betrayed that Mello had stood as well; a hand caressed his shoulder and he swallowed, wondering if Mello had meant to produce a reaction. If not, scolding the boy would only result in exposing his own oversensitivity...

The fleeing mouse hit the walls of its prison, and massaging its wounded nose realized the awful truth. Damn! He'd been trapped!

Mello's hand worked its way down Clair's back, stopping just short of slipping into his pants, for which the young don was grateful. "It hasn't been boring yet, has it, Vampire?" Mello whispered, leaning over to speak into the boy's ear; his long blond hair swung forward and brushed Clair's ear. "I think it's been very interesting."

Even that slight touch, Mello's hair against his ear, sent hot blood pounding through his body, and Clair grit his teeth against not pain but unwanted pleasure. "Matt is watching," he informed the other boy stiffly, keeping his own voice soft as well. "And _you_ are coming dangerously close to losing--"

"Matt's a big boy. He won't tattle to anyone. As for overstepping my bounds, you are powerless to stop me. Vampire of Company Vita just admitted he needed me around, didn't he? But don't worry; I'm a man of my word. I won't do anything you don't want me to anymore." He drew back and spoke in a normal voice again. "Stay out of trouble yourself, man. See you around. Matt...I'll call you about tomorrow."

"Sure thing." Matt had gone back to his handheld game upon seeing Mello begin toying with the don; Clair wondered if the goggled boy was embarrassed or merely disinterested. Or...had he already known? But betraying undue agitation would likely put him in another awkward position. Best to ignore it, then...at least for now.

Clair waited until several minutes after he heard the door close behind Mello to make his own exit, bidding Matt to turn off the lights whenever he was done in the room, and made his way directly to his office, where Mauro and Giovanni were deep in conversation about something. Both stopped speaking abruptly upon seeing him enter the room; Mauro rose.

"Young Master, the Board is very nervous about the news broadcast tonight..."

"Tell the Board we have it under control," Clair replied bluntly, preferring at that moment any topic besides the Kira case for discussion. "Now, Mauro. Immediately. Leave. We don't want to keep the Board waiting, since they apparently rule my life now. Why don't you ask them what asylums they're emptying to find me a wife while you're at it?"

Mauro's mouth hung open in shock at the outburst; Clair half-wanted to reach over and slap it shut. How'd the old idiot expect him to feel in the situation? He'd finally achieved the acceptance and the position he'd always wanted, but every time he turned around now someone else was dictating his life as a result! That wasn't how being Vampire was supposed to work. Something had to change before Clair exploded—or, worse, imploded, crumbling beneath the pressure until he was little better than the quivering, spineless majordomo before him. "Now, Mauro."

"Y-yes, Young Master..." Shakily the old man left, shutting the door behind him, and as he heard the latch click into place Clair collapsed into the chair behind his desk.

Giovanni approached him tentatively. "Vampire, are you all right?"

"Am I weak, Giovanni?" Clair asked in a dull, mumbling monotone, hanging his head to hide his shame at even having to ask the question. "Does everyone really think they can take advantage of me...am I really helpless?" Mello's beautiful smile leered at him now, and yet he couldn't help but feeling a warmth from the memory anyway. "Why am I always the one who has to give in now? That's not how Papa kept the peace. It shouldn't be mine either."

Clearing his throat, Giovanni searched uncomfortably for the right words to say. "Vampire, I wouldn't call you weak...but you're easily provoked, if you'll let me say that...and some people might try to take advantage of that since you can't help it...but I also know that your instincts are usually right. If you distrust someone or a situation, you're usually dead-on."

"And if I—if I can't?" Clair asked, knowing he was leaving himself wide open but in his distress unable to think of a subtler way to say it. "If I want to kill someone and yet...if every time we're together I'm happy..."

Kneeling by his employer's side, Giovanni tried to get the boy to look him in the eyes. "Vampire...Clair, being happy isn't a weakness. Liking someone isn't a sign that you're helpless. Have you been afraid to be happy all this time?"

"I'm not afraid," Clair insisted hollowly. "I'm not. Watch yourself, Giovanni."

His words reassembled the master-servant wall between the pair, and Giovanni stood. "Have it your way, Vampire. But if you've somehow found someone on your own...go for it." He smiled. "End the damn farce and announce it already! God knows I'm as tired of seeing those train wrecks as you are."

"I haven't picked anyone," Clair replied. "I was just curious. Good night, Giovanni."

"'Night, Vampire." Giovanni headed to the door and paused with his hand on the handle. "Hey, is she hot?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Clair asked angrily as Giovanni, grinning over his parting shot, slipped away; then wondered if such outbursts were what the man had referred to upon calling the boy 'easily provoked.' It was the trap from earlier, he realized. If he said nothing, people would continue in their manipulative ways and take advantage of him; if he reacted the way he wanted to, the way he was accustomed to, he revealed how vulnerable he really was. Where did that leave him then?

"_I won't do anything you don't want me to anymore,"_ Mello promised again in his mind, and Clair put his head in his hands. What did that really mean? Did he even want to know?

"What _do_ I want?" he asked himself, but he knew the answer. He wanted to think of some grand decisive blow that would keep the Board on his side yet stop them from trying to manipulate him as he now suspected they planned on doing; he wanted the threat of Kira to stop making that same Board panic; he wanted the intelligence, the self-control, the ability to walk into a room and command attention immediately...

He wanted to be Mello. Aside from his father, who had possessed the same charisma to a softer, less wildly thrilling degree, he had never respected another person so much before in his life. Clair could only respect what he wanted to be and was not, but everything he respected he also hated, precisely _because_ he could not stand seeing anyone excelling where he lacked. Clair had had to detonate five warheads of napalm to gain the city's attention. Mello could arrest attention with a look. The fireworks had been fun, but Mello's way was a hell of a lot less messy.

Was it his father's way, as well? Lorenzo had been revered by all; Clair had merely sought to dominate through fear. Was that what he had to do, then? Gain the Board's reverence? But Clair only knew how to gain love through submission and obedience; he had never learned anything else!

Peeking into his soul and seeing everything that had gone wrong gave him a headache; he crossed his arms on his desk and buried his head in them. He had to learn from Mello, then. He had to learn to gain love and trust, so he could use people as he chose without fear of the consequences. And by spending time with Mello, he could also decide once and for all what the boy really meant to him.

Still, Clair had a horrible feeling he knew that already, too.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

"This is awful," Kyoko said worriedly, peering over Near's shoulder as the young boy surveyed the contents of the tape J-TV would be airing--Kira's response should the police decline his offer. "Near, surely they won't make you do it."

Switching off the television set, the boy put down the remote control and dragged over a large bag of dice, which he began stacking on top of each other to create a structure. "Even if the police want me to appear on television the way the 'no' tape says, it won't matter," he replied, sticking a finger into his hair and winding white tufts around it. "I intend to catch this Kira before then. J, please examine the envelopes and other packaging you retrieved from the station and generate a list of the people with the closest fingerprints, even if the prints on the evidence are incomplete."

"It will take some time," J replied. "There are twenty-five million entries in the database and many more illegal immigrants whose prints are not on file. Estimated time of completion...at least twenty-four, if not thirty-six hours."

"That's fine. This Kira gave us three days between when the tape airs and when I have to appear on TV, as 'head of whatever group may be investigating Kira.'" Near's mouth twisted, mocking the words. "A stupid gesture, if they have any idea how much of a trail they've left behind already."

"Near, I might be nitpicking," Light spoke up from Daisuke's old desk, "but you keep referring to the sender of these tapes as 'this Kira.' Is there a reason?"

Near looked up. "I thought you might have noticed it too. Well done. What are your thoughts on the likelihood?"

"Likelihood of what?" asked Kyoko, feeling rather left out.

"Of there being a second Kira," Light explained grimly. "I don't like the way this Kira operates. The original one was bad enough, but this person...why, with seemingly no provocation, should Kira choose to explicitly announce himself and his intent to create a 'just society'? Besides, there was no need to kill any of the people who died yesterday. This person is trying to assert himself through televised murder. That's too showy, even for Kira. All the mass killings at least happened late at night, when no one would immediately notice."

"Your last point has flaws, but the rest is solid," Near replied, working his fingers even deeper into the snarls on his head. "Kira didn't even know for certain that anyone was chasing him until the police and those civilians showed up on the scene. The first two on-site victims were both criminals, but their crimes up till now have been petty so I doubt this Kira knew that when he decided to kill them."

"So Vita's closing in on Kira too?" Light frowned. "That did occur to me last night. It's nice to have validity."

"I don't like flattery," Near responded. "But the additional factor of Vita's probable involvement in the Kira hunt does pose some problems for us, since they may use methods harmful to our own investigation. You earlier mentioned that Kira has had no previous provocation. That is untrue. A group of robbers was only partially punished by Kira just prior to when the first video aired. Why did he leave the job unfinished, unless for some reason he had been unable to kill some of them? I believe someone ordered that heist as a test, thus exposing their intent to the murderer. I intend to analyze this test in detail after we capture the second Kira. That must take precedence, due to his more erratic and threatening behavior; besides, we have physical evidence for analysis. J, was anyone on the scene when you arrived?"

The machine stopped processing database information just long enough to respond. "One human being was watching the entrance from a nearby building, but I did not consider them my priority compared with obtaining the tapes and envelopes. The target had been lost when I returned."

Light pondered this for a moment grimly; Kyoko didn't like the way he bowed his head whenever he thought. The shadows from his long bangs obscured his eyes, made him look threatening. Finally he replied, "So we just have to wait until J is done with the fingerprint check?"

"If the second Kira, assuming it is a second Kira and not just the first doing something incredibly stupid, which I doubt, had any sense he had someone else send the tapes or at least leave prints," Near responded, crowning the small palace he'd constructed out of dice with a final cube. "So it'll likely be a starting point only. But at least we'll be able to gain some new information." With a sweeping blow, he demolished the building before him, scattering dice to all the corners of the room in a way that made both Light and Kyoko wince. "Information that Company Vita will likely also seek to get, so be on your guard. I cannot make this plain enough, though their intent is likely helpful: Kira is not the only enemy of this investigation. If Vita interferes, the second Kira may react in ways none of us can predict."

Kyoko and Light exchanged a nervous glance as Near began to very calmly reconstruct his dice palace. Both of them knew the sort of things of which Company Vita was capable.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I am not speaking to you," Clair's date informed him saucily, her blond pigtails bobbing as she tossed her head in a pout. "You have done bad things, and Misa-Misa is a very good girl. She is only here because her boss's boss told her to put in an appearance."

Clair felt inclined for a moment to point out that her behavior would hardly showcase the acting talent she apparently possessed, but her foul temper relieved him somewhat. A person who disliked him deserved no courtesy, and thus he could behave as he chose—within reason, of course. Unwilling to invite any more young ladies to his home, the meeting had been arranged in a little nightclub which operated as a front for a rather more profitable, though seedy and risque, entertainment bar in the basement. While smashing her silly little face into the wall would hardly even merit a glance down in that stinking pit, up where sunlight could still penetrate he had to behave civilly in public.

So he was stuck with "Misa-Misa", mixed drinks that sounded more like vacation destinations than edible concoctions, and—perhaps worst of all--a thoroughly smitten Matt. Giovanni's obvious attraction to Gina had been only permissible due to her equal interest in him, but while Matt's eyes had nearly bugged out behind their goggles upon the blonde girl's flouncy little entrance and subsequent sulking fit, she hadn't even acknowledged his presence at the table. Clair supposed that a boy who spent most of his time hanging around Mello needed a break from intelligent companionship every once in a while, because all he'd been able to figure out about up-and-coming model and actress Misa Amane was her utter obliviousness to the situation.

"It's too bad, though," Misa mused, stirring her drink with the accompanying little umbrella. "You're pretty cool for a criminal. Did the lip ring hurt? Misa would never do such a thing to her face, but it's interesting. I like your earrings and hair too."

What _was_ it with these girls and treating him like an equal if not an inferior? Wei's niece had been frustrating with all her kowtowing, but everyone else seemed to swing to the opposite extreme. "Not too much," he replied grumpily, upset that someone who apparently thought the concept 'too much black lace' didn't exist found his appearance 'pretty cool.' As long as she stayed off the subject of his eyes, he figured he could control himself.

Misa giggled. "So tough! You really aren't what I was expecting." She'd seemed to have forgotten her vow not to speak with him. What a pity. "At first, Misa was scared when her boss told her she'd have to audition with Vampire, and she told herself that she didn't care if it ruined her career, there were some lines she just couldn't cross. But Misa also believes in second chances."

No, she hadn't forgotten, just changed her mind. That was worse. He had to keep her from turning into Harriet Deacon, though he couldn't see anyone dressed like she was, all morbidity and sugar, prattling on about the origins of socks. "Why do you do that?" he asked, ignoring Matt's look of mild outrage at his rudeness; apparently the other boy would have handled a confession like that from this particular girl quite differently. "Refer to yourself by your name? It's not attractive."

Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment he thought he had made her angry; then she settled down and adopted an expression of bland innocence. Was she acting after all, then? "M-Misa has been told by her manager that it is a part of her image. When you deserve to know more of Misa than just her image, she will stop." A coy, round smile accented glossed lips. "So if you want her to stop, you have to be interested in Misa. Misa doesn't trust just anybody."

"You're setting yourself up for disaster," Clair sighed, not particularly interested in whether the stupid girl got herself abused romantically or not but glad to have a topic on which he could at last put her in her place. "If your only qualification for trust is the other person's interest, you'll end up being a victim of pretenders all your life. I _hate_ people like that. Both the users and the victims."

She clasped her hands in her lap. "You're...worried about Misa? Yay!"

How thick _was_ she? Perhaps, when she turned on all her charm, she seemed attractive on a television screen to a certain demographic, but Clair had been raised to take over a mafia. His senses did not appreciate being bowled over by cuteness. "How will you ever find people who are interested in who you really are if you don't show them anything but your image to begin with, either?" he continued, in a preachy mood to cover his own need for direction. "That's stupid and self-contradictory. All you'll ever attract are perverts and stalkers--"

Her face blanched, but she remained firm. "Misa is not afraid of perverts and stalkers," she replied. "She will fight them when she runs into them. Misa always comes out on top! Even Clair is nice to Misa, and he is the biggest criminal of all. She's not afraid."

"You do realize what this meeting is for, right?" Clair couldn't resist asking, a smirk on his face. This had become a game, and for that he was indebted to the girl, silly as it sounded. If he could get her to break—to get angry with him—to drop the guise, then he would consider himself successful and, even better, not have to deal with any of the sugary nonsense anymore. "You're supposed to make me fall in love with you and propose to you. Calling me a criminal is hardly going to do that, don't you think?"

She appeared to consider his words for a moment. "But...Misa figured that you wouldn't mind. Especially since that's what Misa really thinks of Clair, despite his being even cooler than she thought. You're the one sending mixed signals!" She giggled and stuck out her tongue. "Misa got you!"

Matt laughed almost triumphantly, and Clair shot him an angry glower. How dare his own bodyguard take her side, even if—his pride shuddered to admit it—she was right? "In that case, let me be honest with you in turn. I prefer being called 'Vampire'. Isn't that 'cool' enough for you?" He hoped she at least wouldn't notice the disdain coating his words as he sought to amend his stance.

Nodding vigorously, Misa grinned. "Okay. Clair is now just Vampire to Misa...to me," she corrected, a faint blush stealing onto her face. "What now?"

Clair didn't have an answer for that; he looked at Matt for help but his eyes kept traveling until at last they rested on the door to the club, alarmed by who he'd seen entering. What was _he_ doing here? He'd been given strict orders to contact Vampire by phone only!

Mello, face partially hidden by a pair of large sunglasses and with a motorcycle helmet cradled under one arm, walked right past Clair without a hint of recognition and sat down in an adjacent table, his head next to Clair's but facing the opposite direction. Matt, noticing, stared too; whatever Mello was planning, he hadn't been informed beforehand.

For her part, Misa hardly noticed. "Hey, what's it like, having all those people doing everything you want?"

"It's damn annoying," Clair replied, half-growling. "Sometimes they end up ordering me around instead. And other times, they don't listen to me."

"What do you do then?" Misa asked, leaning forward. "If you give an order and people ignore it?"

Clair arched a joking eyebrow, aware he was putting on a show for Mello and determined to keep the other boy in a good mood. After all, the don needed information from him. "I wouldn't recommend changing careers, if that's what you're considering. It's a hard field to break into."

She looked down nervously. "No, I just...it's hard to get people's attention, isn't it?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's too easy," Clair replied, not wanting to be quite so self-disclosing to Misa but giving Mello priority in his thoughts. "There are some people who won't stop pestering me. I'll have to deal with them soon and make them pay."

"Ooh, pay how?" She seemed far too interested in the details. "What sorts of things do gangsters do when they hate each other?"

Mello's cell phone rang; fishing in his black leather pants, he pulled it out and held it to his ear. "Hey. Yeah...yeah...that sounds odd..."

Was this a legitimate call or a message to him? Clair focused on Misa again for the time being. "Oh, there are a variety of ways," he began, giving her an enigmatic, sadistic smile. Was there any way to phrase the following list so it sounded like a threat to her as well? That would be absolutely perfect.

"Still, man, I'd ask her on a second date...I don't know, you're the one with all the charm, make her love you if you have to...huh? Oh, well, then I'll talk to you when your interview is over. We'll meet in the basement, okay?" Mello closed his phone again and, from the rustling sounds behind Clair, picked up his drinks menu nonchalantly.

There went all hopes of keeping the girl at a distance; Mello, Clair felt, wasn't the type whose friends normally came to him for romantic advice. Get Misa interested in a second date, then? He writhed at the thought of spending any more time in her company, but Mello wouldn't show himself for petty reasons. This had to be big, then, though the only theory he could think of that was big enough seemed at the same time completely absurd. "But I don't want to talk about all that, especially not to a sweet girl," he finished, ignoring what he thought sounded like an amused snort behind him. "Can't that wait for a while? I'd rather hear about you." He leaned forward, wishing the club served chocolate-covered cherries. This routine had been developed to revolve around them, and it had barely even worked with the necessary props, but he didn't have time to develop a new act. "Weren't you scared when your boss said who you'd be seeing?"

She nodded. "At first. But then Mi--I just got angry, and I said fine! I'll do it! And we'll just see what happens!" Her eyelashes trembled. "I'm...I'm glad I did, though. At least, I think I am. It's really made me see a lot of things differently..." She broke off, shaking her head. "But this is just one time. It's too soon to change my mind."

"I want you to change your mind, Misa," Clair replied, reaching across the table to take her hand in his; Matt had to smother a laugh by pretending to choke on his drink. "I said all those mean things earlier because I don't _want_ you to see me as a criminal. It's what I am to everyone you know, but without my people the city wouldn't run. You see that, don't you, Misa...sweetie?"

She nodded. Mello snickered in the next booth, and Clair set his jaw. Well then, Nate River. He'd show the other boy exactly how to win over someone—and this time, he'd hold nothing back. Misa was already staring at him with stars in her eyes; she was confused, but he could soon straighten her out. By the time he was done with her, _she'd_ be the one begging to see more of him!

"Do you want to dance, Misa?" he asked, jerking his head towards the floor where couples mingled and gyrated in ways that seemed to him completely unnatural. "It seems a shame to take you out and not go dancing with you."

"You want to dance? With Misa?" In her excitement she forgot to drop third person. "Let's go!" Grabbing his wrist, she practically dragged him to the dance floor herself and draped her arms around him. "You lead first."

Clair saw too late a flaw in his plan: he couldn't dance. At least, not the way Misa expected him to; Lorenzo Leonelli hadn't held the sorts of parties that lent themselves to such behavior. It didn't look too hard, though...for the first time that evening, he was relieved Matt and not Giovanni had accompanied him. Matt was a fairly new acquaintance and easy to order around. Had Giovanni witnessed this spectacle, he'd never let Clair hear the last of it.

Awkwardly he tried to drop the stiffness in his manner, to move with the music the way everyone else seemed to be doing, but he did not surrender his self so easily. Blockily he placed his own hands just under Misa's arms, noting the brief gasp of pleased surprise as he did so, and shifted his weight from one leg to another. This was all everyone else was doing, right?...no, they were _rotating_ parts of themselves and...no, no he couldn't do _that_...oh, he really should have thought this out first...

Misa sensed, or perhaps observed, his discomfort. "You are a really terrible dancer," she objected frankly, rubbing herself up against him and then, leading with her shoulders, rolling herself away. "Maybe you need to get drunk first."

"No...no, I know I'm no good. I usually don't like dancing. But for Misa..." He tried to brush his hand across her face the way Mello liked to treat him. "I wanted to try for you."

"Oh, Clair..." She stared at him adoringly. "Or do you still prefer Vampire?"

"Vampire," he purred, aware of Mello's eyes on him as he tightened his arms around Misa. "I don't want you thinking you're safe with me. Lots of people hate me, and they'll try to hurt you if this continues."

"I don't care. If anyone tries to hurt Clair I'll deal with them. I don't look it, but I'm tough too." She smiled and rested her head on him. "Was it love at first sight, then?"

"Was what?" Clair asked dumbly, caught off-guard, but quickly caught on. "I guess it must have been," he admitted almost shyly, noticing as he cast his eyes towards his feet that Matt had lost all pretenses and was shaking in silent laughter. Mello did a better job of hiding his amusement, but he too had to hold onto his sides. "As soon as you stopped lying to me...I was blown away. Misa..."

She looked up at the mention of her name, and with a final rebellious glance at the pair of grinning idiots observing his conquest Clair planted his lips firmly on her own, shutting his eyes as his entire body tried to jump away. She responded eagerly, kissing him back, but he had to keep from gagging as she plastered herself up against him.

This wasn't at all like how it had been with Mello. With Mello there had been a wave crashing down out of nowhere, setting every inch of his body on fire and turning him to water at the same time, leaving him breathless and disoriented and giddy with some drug; but with Misa there was...nothing. No, less than nothing, it felt _wrong_, clammy and violating and revolting. He was painfully aware of her lips leaving a trail of gloss across his own face, of her arms squeezing him until his ribs creaked, of how one of her platformed shoes had landed on his own barely shod foot. Clair had been shot at multiple times, he had once been beaten by his father and idol, he had seen valued friends be gunned down before his eyes. Yet he was certain he had never felt so terrible in his entire life.

At last she detached himself from him, and as he wiped his mouth off she stared dazedly at him, her eyes unfocused but full of happiness. "I have to go soon," she remembered faintly. "I have a commercial...but on the first date..." Her breath came short from awe. "On the very first date..."

"Then you want there to be more, Misa? You'll call me?" Clair heard his own voice practically begging. He wanted her to leave as soon as possible; it would be hard to keep up the act if he had to excuse himself to vomit somewhere. "Please say there'll be more, Misa!"

The clouds left her eyes. "Of course there'll be more, you silly boy," she replied, kissing him again on the cheek. "Misa does not give up a good thing. But I have a condition."

"Anything, Misa, anything. But please, quickly, I don't want you to be late."

Teasingly she poked his bottom lip. "Take the lip ring out next time. It's cool, but it hurts." Returning to the table, she picked up her purse and spun around again to face him. "I have to go now, I think. I'll call you, okay?"

"Tomorrow," Clair insisted, noticing Mello playing with a pocket calendar. "Call me tomorrow. Your boss should have my number..."

"I brought your phone," Matt interjected, holding up a cell phone Clair had never seen before. "Here, Misa-Misa. Here's the number..."

Misa punched the number into her own phone and, finished, turned back to Clair without even thanking Matt. "You can't come see me film?" she asked.

He shook his head, glad to have a readily available alibi. "It's dangerous for me right now, with Kira running around. You go on ahead."

An expression not unlike guilt spasmed briefly across her face. "Oh. Th-that's right. Kira. I hope they catch him soon, then, so you can go places with Misa." She jerked her head towards Matt. "Especially without that creepy guy."

Matt hung his head as Mello looked away, casual-stranger routine essentially extinct, then stood and made his way to the back, where the door to the basement was hidden. Misa didn't notice. "G-goodbye then, Vampire." She smiled at him, obviously expectant.

He settled for a one-armed hug. "Goodbye, Misa Misa. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she promised, backing to the door so as not to take her eyes off of him. At last, she turned around and was gone. Matt slipped Clair the cell phone and carefully excused himself as well—to tail her? Oh, no. Mello better have a decent explanation.

Clair waited several minutes to ensure she wouldn't come rushing back in before following Mello down to the poorly-lit bowels of the establishment, raucous music blaring in his ears. He tried to ignore the main stage and focused instead on the couples on this dance floor, but there wasn't much of a difference. Down where any drug was legal and no behavior was condemned, people certain of a crowd's anonymity did some pretty strange things.

He found Mello among them, sunglasses removed and thankfully not doing too much more than swaying to the beat of the music. "Down here we won't be overheard," the blond whispered, sidling up to Clair and dipping fluidly towards him. "Besides, after seeing that, I can't take it. I have to teach you how to dance before you kill whatever dignity you have left. That, my dear Vampire, was truly pathetic."

"It won't have an excuse to happen again," Clair promised, but already he felt himself matching Mello step for step—from breathing the smoke in the air, he told himself. Who knew what all was being ingested down here? As soon as he left, the dizziness would subside, and he would be himself again. Vampire didn't dance.

As if on cue, the song ended, and Clair tried to leave the floor, but a slower tune started up and Mello grabbed him. "Where do you think you're going? If you're going to keep her interested you have to loosen up. Besides, you need to know how to slow dance if nothing else, though it's boring as hell. I'll lead for now. Put one arm behind my back and give me the other one."

"I didn't go through all of that just to dance with you," Clair hissed as Mello embraced him, stepping in time to the music and taking Clair with him. Gone was the determination for Mello to teach him charisma. Anyone he had to win by dancing wasn't worth winning. "What's going on?"

Mello nuzzled his head into the small of Clair's neck, causing the don's mouth to gape open. "Relax," the blond replied in reference to the motion. "We have to look like we came here together now, all right? Anyway, I've got some news for you that, if your performance up there was to believed, would break your little heart. Digging up information on your newest fan proved to be very interesting. Misa Amane's parents were killed before her eyes by a burglar. But that's not the interesting part. That same burglar was going to get off of the murder charge, except Kira killed him. But that's not the interesting part either."

Clair's head had somehow ended up affectionately resting on Mello's; he caught himself but decided moving it wasn't worth the trouble. "So what is the interesting part?" he asked, embarrassment fading in the slow rhythm of the dance and Mello's reassuring warmth against him. Now that the humiliation was over, he suddenly felt very, very tired. He could rest right where he was, he felt, for hours.

"The interesting part," Mello breathed into Clair's ear, lips grazing the don's cheek, "is that someone who works for me had a friend once who was obsessed with Misa Amane. Said friend finally got his courage worked up enough to propose, despite having never spoken to her before. They found him the next day dead of a heart attack. Sound like anyone we know, hmm?"

"Misa Amane is too stupid to be Kira," Clair protested, protecting his pride more than the girl. He could not have just...behaved affectionately...toward Kira. Something would have alerted him had she really been a threat. He could not have been that easily deceived, even if his actions were deception in turn.

Mello nibbled on Clair's earring. "Kira, yes, but not the second Kira. I want you to keep an eye on her for now, but if looking into this reveals anything...weird...ideally, she should move in with you."

Clair's head jerked up violently. "Absolutely _not_," he hissed. "Tonight was bad enough. I'm not putting myself through that--"

"But if she trusts you," Mello argued, easing Clair's head down onto his own shoulder, "she might let her guard down. Besides, it'd be hard for her to kill with you in the house potentially watching her, but killing you would only incriminate her. It's the safest place for you to be. Plus it gets you at least temporarily free of this nightly torture, all these girls."

"If she's Kira, she won't say yes," Clair objected, sagging into Mello's arms and feeling the other boy give way as well until they were supporting each other. "Besides, asking her to move in after one date..."

"So you see her until I can figure out if we need to keep an eye on her or not, and then you ask. You can use my apartment if you don't want her poking into your business affairs; we'll just pretend you've rented it to give her some semblance of a normal life or something. You go to work in the morning, she goes to her movie shoots or whatever, and I, who know that place like the back of my hand, scour the joint for anything that could be a murder weapon. Assuming she can't kill with just a look or a thought or something."

"Why not use bugs and cameras?"

"Those can be found." Mello undid the top button of Clair's shirt and slid his hand in, though he did little more than hold the boy close. "I have friends who can ensure my looking around the place will be completely invisible."

"And if you're caught?"

"I won't be." Mello's mouth was dangerously close to Clair's cheek. "I'm too good for that."

"I know you are. Okay. I'll buy you time to look around, at least." He considered pulling away, business matters seemingly settled; but found he could not. He didn't want to go, not just yet, not while so much left hanging in the air that he was afraid to mention. Instead, unable to stand the tension any longer, Clair turned his mouth upward and met Mello's, closing his eyes again. A test, he told himself. Just...a test. For curiosity's sake, while the opportunity presented itself.

"Mmm." Surprised, Mello settled into the kiss, and once again Clair felt the warmth surging through his bones and his blood, knocking everything else aside until Misa was gone, and the club was gone, and the night's embarrassments were gone, and there was only Mello holding him, wanting to be with him—tricking him? No, not this time, and maybe not ever—and it tasted so _good—_he opened his mouth—and oh! This was new, and exciting, and different, this was the mad rush his life had been missing once Mauro and Giovanni had taken his fireworks away. This was beyond his control, but unlike the waves closing over his head as the Board made their demands, Clair rode this wave for as far as it would take him, not needing to submerge his head for the full effect. He couldn't remember feeling this way before, at least not to this extent. What was Mello doing to him?...It tasted like chocolate...

At last they stopped, unsure how Clair's shirt had ended up on the floor or why Mello's neck had acquired a neat line of bite marks, but still they clung to each other in mute fear of what they had not quite done and what both so badly wanted. Why Mello was afraid Clair couldn't tell, but the boy was most definitely shaking.

"Oh my God..." Mello murmured, holding Clair's head in his hands; then, recovering a bit, he smiled faintly. "Where did _that_ come from?"

Clair didn't quite know himself, but out of what little memory remained to him he managed to pull a reply. "I'm not afraid to be happy, you know," he replied. "And I wanted to ask you to teach me how to deal with people..." It sounded helpless, and he hated himself for saying it, for even daring to start something after talking so big earlier. And yet...how could he regret something that felt so wonderful?

Mello kissed Clair's forehead; then, stooping, he picked up Clair's shirt from where it had fallen and helped the don put it back on. As he buttoned it slowly, he softly replied, "Funny way to ask. Most people use words."

"You aren't a very good listener," Clair replied pointedly, grappling with whether or not to kiss Mello's head while it presented itself as an ideal target. Coming to his senses, he decided against it. "I should be heading back. Mauro will be wondering..."

"Yeah, Matt's probably finishing up too. Is Giovanni coming for you?" Mello finished with Clair's shirt, and the young don shook his head.

"Gina called him this afternoon. He'll be out late."

"So only Mauro will know if you're even later?" Mello asked, but Clair shook his head more firmly and the blond relented. "I get it. You call the shots. Want to go home?"

"I think I better," Clair replied, adjusting his collar.

"I brought my motorcycle," Mello pointed out. "You'll have to hold on tight."

"That's fine," Clair answered, finding he already looked forward to it. He still didn't fully understand what was going on, not entirely, but he no longer felt afraid. And with the fear gone, letting Mello get closer to him no longer seemed so awful. In fact...it sounded rather nice.

They left the club arm in arm, Clair wearing Mello's sunglasses despite the darkness, and rode in silence back to the Leonelli estate, huddled together against the night wind. Neither spoke a word, even in parting, and Clair slipped silently into the house, smiling giddily.

Only after he'd reached his bedroom did he realize he still had Mello's sunglasses on and breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't run into Mauro on his way in. The sunglasses were just the most recent of a long list of things he didn't feel like explaining to the old man about his evening.

Especially since he didn't want to even explain half of it to himself.


	11. Confluence, Decision

a/n: I'm on the fence about whether or not this chapter pushes my rating to "M", and the site's guidelines are pretty vague about it as well. So...if, after reading this, you think I should change my rating, let me know and I'll do so. The same thing applies to all future scenes of a similar nature.

I don't own these people. They've just taken up residence in my mind.

**Episode.11: -CONFLUENCE- (Decision)**

"_As a penalty, I will take the life of whoever is leading the investigation against me at present. He or she is to appear on this channel in three days, on the six p.m. news, and will speak for a ten-minute period. I will be the judge of whether the person shown is legitimate. If I determine they are not, I will take the lives of several top city officials as compensation."_

Crouching on her bed, the girl watched her own videotape broadcast out to the city while fiddling with the hem of her skirt. No longer the pinnacle of confidence the creature remembered, her face seemed conflicted and even a little remorseful. Concerned, the creature drew near.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked the human, guessing the tribulation's source. "If they don't cooperate, are you going ahead with your promise?"

For a long moment, the girl was silent, thinking things through. "I don't know," she answered finally. "It's not like I hate Kira now or anything. Meeting and helping him would still be the coolest thing ever. And it's not like killing a bunch of top people in the city would hurt the mob." A hint of her old cheerfulness returned, only to fade into obscurity just as quickly. "Still...what if Kira finds me with him and comes to the wrong conclusion? What if Kira hates me for liking his enemy? And what if _he_ discovers me? He might think I was the real Kira and that I've been hurting his family. I don't want that."

"This isn't like you," the creature said, worried. "But you can't have both worlds. You have to pick a side."

"I know..." the girl said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't want to, though." Snapping her eyes back open, she brightened suddenly. "What if I find Kira first? That way I can get closer to _him_ and help Kira because of that! I'll bet Kira would love to have someone with the eyes _and_ connections! But I won't tell Kira the secret I know about _him_. That way he can't be killed. And I win, no matter who ends up on top."

"Or both sides want to kill you," the creature objected. "I'm against this."

"Too late." The girl stuck her tongue out. "My mind's made up! I'll just have to hope Kira shows himself soon, and that the city listens to me. It'd be too bad if all those people have to die. I want to find Kira, but I'm not a murderer."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Listening to the chipper voice on the other end of the phone, Clair sighed and waited impatiently for Misa to arrive at her point—assuming, of course, that she'd had one when she began talking, which the young don had begun to doubt.

Fortunately his doubts were soon assuaged. "...so when are you free for another date? I don't want to go dancing again, but wouldn't karaoke be fun?"

The last time Clair had sung aloud, he'd been eight years old and his father had silenced him thirty seconds in with a look that would have killed from a mile away. Locking himself in a booth with an enamored, gullible fool and a microphone sounded more like some sort of primeval torture than a pleasant afternoon's diversion.

Still, better torture than death, and if Misa was the second Kira someone needed to be looking after her. "Would this Saturday be all right?" he asked; it was the same day Mello's rival, as head of the investigation, was slated to appear on TV, and he wanted to see what would happen should he keep her out past six p.m.

She hesitated before replying, but the pause was so slight Clair wondered if he'd tricked himself into hearing it. "Saturday's perfect. I haven't got any commercials or photo shoots or anything. How about noon? We could have lunch too!"

He would be locked in the torture chamber for at least five hours. Clair leaned over his desk and scribbled a note to Mauro telling the man to cancel all engagements on Sunday; he'd need some alone time to recover. "Noon. My man and I will pick you up at your place."

"Ooh, Misa gets chauffered? That's so classy!" The squeaks in her voice made him cringe.

"Anything for you. I'll see you then...honey." Such words felt unnatural in his mouth; he wondered how long he would be able to sustain the flimsy charade. It was for Mello, though. He could try his hardest for Mello.

She babbled on for a few more minutes and finally hung up. Clair kept the cell phone Matt had given him up against his ear. "Matt, you listening in?" he asked once he was certain Misa had really severed her connection.

"Yeah. Damn, you're lucky. What I wouldn't give to be alone in a karaoke booth with that girl..."

"You might get your chance. I'm taking you, not Giovanni."

"She thinks I'm a creep."

"Even if I hadn't specified you, Giovanni would have made you switch places with him at gunpoint. He's heard me sing before. Get me Mello on the phone and cut the tap."

"You're that bad, huh?...Here you go." The sound of a phone ringing supplanted Matt, which in turn gave way to another familiar voice.

"Why are you on the Misa phone?" Mello asked, mouth obviously full of chocolate from the thickness of his speech. "Matt can hear you, you know. Hello, Matt."

"I made him stop listening in." It was Clair's turn to pause and muster his courage. The events after Misa's departure the previous evening had sent him to bed smiling, feeling oddly at peace; and he had to know why as soon as possible. He also simply wanted to see Mello again as soon as he could, wanted a reason for Mello to hold him again since it had felt so wonderful, and believed he'd created a feasible alibi. "Are you free today?"

"Well, that depends." The blond's voice grew coy. "What can I do for you? Last night, by the way..."

"Last night I asked you for help with Misa," Clair interrupted, his heart fluttering at the mere thought of the events to which Mello had referred. "Can you teach me today? We can clean up your apartment...so I can show it to her if I need to...I'm seeing her on Saturday at noon..."

"Excellent. Keep her out for at least six hours."

"I'm not an idiot." Clair smiled, glad he'd been able to predict Mello's thoughts. "What about today?"

Mello pondered, or pretended to ponder, the situation. "Well, I've already done some cleaning myself, but I suppose it couldn't hurt if you stopped by to give it your approval."

"Pick me up at one, then." His stomach had begun to nervously somersault; he ordered it to behave. "I want to ride the motorcycle again."

"Anytime, Vampire. Anytime. You're a very welcome passenger." Mello chewed thoughtfully into the phone, making Clair salivate in turn. He'd done it. Today he'd find out what kind of a monster he was dealing with, once and for all. Last night had been a prelude, a hint, an eye-opener he hadn't expected but which in hindsight seemed all too obvious.

He set down the phone after saying goodbye, his head light and his stomach heavy. Today would be the final test.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

J had finished processing the database for fingerprint matches by noon the day after he began, and by twelve-thirty the owner of the prints sat down behind a hastily erected screen in the Special Unit office for interrogation. By twelve-thirty-five all Near had gotten out of her was her name and impressions of the place.

"Miss Deacon," the white-haired boy asked testily, squeezing a ball of modeling clay in one hand until it began to peek out from between his fingers, "will you be finished soon?"

"The overall dimensions of your place, however, are so awkwardly long that it must be terribly hard to decorate anyway, though whoever thought of using those two colors for stripes on your sofa must have been colorblind, because I really can't see someone who knew what they were doing pairing those two shades. Come to think of it, the entire factory must be colorblind for no one to voice an objection, though if someone with a lot of power proposed the combination I can also believe all the workers would keep quiet. I have a cousin who's colorblind, but he's not in the furniture industry. He's an engineer. Engineers are also very strange people. Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" The young woman's cheeks flushed pink. "Please forgive me! It's just so hard for me to hold a conversation with someone I can't see. Why do you have a screen up, anyway? It would make me far less nervous if you'd just show me your face, sir. I'm a very good judge of character just by seeing a face, but you needn't be afraid. If I see anything bad I'll break it to you lightly. Now, what did you want to ask me?"

Near rolled his clay into a perfect sphere, then smashed it between his palms and began poking a pattern into the flattened surface. "I sent J to bring you here because your fingerprints were found on some pieces of evidence for a very important case. Look at the envelope and tapes he will be handing to you. Do they look familiar? J, the tapes."

"Roger." Stiffly the android handed over the videos and envelope; accepting them, Harriet's face scrunched into a studious frown. Then, she brightened.

"Someone must have given you the wrong tapes, I think, because that's my handwriting on the envelope but there's no reason for this to be involved in a case of any kind. Unless of course you're a talent agency, in which case I'm honored to have your attention and am willing to work right away! Any sort of job is fine, but I feel bound to tell you that I won't do anything that's too explicit. All those racy pictures of girls are in such bad taste, and anyway, I keep looking at their skinny little bodies and wonder if they don't get cold, prancing around with hardly any clothing on and next to no skin on their bones. I just don't understand what's so attractive about a bunch of young ladies who are probably catching hypothermia from wearing outfits that are essentially handkerchiefs on strings. Come to think of it, why don't people attach strings to their handkerchiefs to begin with? The string could then be attached to a belt loop and then the person wouldn't lose their handkerchief, since they're such easy things to misplace, being small. Though I suppose most handkerchiefs get mislaid because the owner lends them to someone else who either steals them or forgets to give them back. I've done that more than once, though usually I catch myself and return whatever it is I've borrowed right away. I'm a very firm believer in efficiency, you see."

"That's good to know," said Light, his eyes squeezed shut in frustration as he crossed his arms on Near's side of the screen. "So am I. And it would be most efficient if you told us for what occasion and with whom, if anyone, you prepared those tapes and addressed that envelope."

"I should think the tapes would be self-evident, if you've watched them. I tried my very hardest with all the different styles and poses to be just like the models I see on TV and followed all of Misa's instructions to the letter. She was a great help, Misa; without her encouragement I wouldn't have thought of sending a modeling portfolio to J-TV in hopes they'd show their sponsors. I didn't know it worked like that. I always figured--"

"Miss Deacon," Near interrupted, "it doesn't. Those tapes must have been recorded over, because you did not appear on any of them. Did you give this 'Misa' the tapes when the two of you were done preparing them?"

Harriet grew indignant. "Recorded over? There must be some mistake, then, because Misa wouldn't do a thing like that to me. I look up to her an awful lot, and so you could imagine my delight when she approached me one day when I was visiting my father and Mr. Arubogasuto was showing her off, along with some of the other girls who work for the agency he owns, and asked me if I'd like to try my hand at being a model too. We bonded instantly—I know that sort of thing usually only happens in the movies, but I really do feel like from the very beginning Misa and I had so much in common. Have you ever discovered someone you thought was too good for you really could become a friend? It's one of the nicest things I've ever felt in my life. I wonder why she hasn't called me since?"

"What's Misa's last name, Harriet?" Kyoko asked, feeling like she should contribute something; Light shrugged ruefully, already searching the Yoshida Productions database for any models named "Misa".

"Amane. But she goes by Misa-Misa in everything she does. She does an awful lot—commercials and runways and magazine ads and, she told me, maybe even a movie. She wanted me to fill in her slot in case she decided she'd rather be a full-time actress and not a model any more. That's why I can't believe she'd tamper with my tapes. What was on them? I can't imagine Misa doing anything that would attract the attention of anyone who'd call what they were doing a 'case'. Unless--" She sat up straighter. "You _are_ really working for the city, aren't you? You aren't stalking her or something? People do that sometimes, stalk Misa. She told me about that too, and how she had been so scared when a man rushed at her with a knife. It was to show that an idol's life wasn't all glitter and lights, you see, which I thought was terribly kind of her. But I'm always very safe and alert when I go walking, so it should be fairly hard to stalk me."

Light cleared his throat, having found Misa Amane's profile in the Yoshida database and already combing the computer for more information. "Thank you, Miss Deacon. That should be all. J will lead you out. I apologize, but for the sake of our investigation we'll have to request that you not tell anyone, especially Misa, about our bringing you in here."

"Oh, you needn't worry. I'm very good at keeping secrets. Why, just the other day--"

The sliding door closed while she was in mid-sentence, and both Kyoko and Light heaved consecutive, heavy sighs.

"What do you think?" Light asked Near, who had abandoned his clay in favor of several small model trucks. "Can she be believed?"

"If not, that was the most incredible act I've ever heard," Near replied, running a truck up his leg and down his arm. "Overall the only thing I can say is that bringing her in person was most likely a careless error. We should have contacted her by phone; the chance of bugs, now that I reconsider, was likely lower than first expected. At least most of what she says seems so nonsensical that, even if she should report this, no one will believe her or be listening to begin with. The only question remaining is...what to do about this Misa Amane? From the testimony, it seems most likely that she should be the second Kira; yet supporting Kira would be odd for her if her livelihood, like Miss Deacon's, is reliant on organized crime."

"I'll do more research," Light offered. "In the meantime, however, we have to deal with this coming Saturday's news broadcast. How is the second Kira planning on deciding the person shown is leading the investigation or not?"

"I do not know," replied Near. "I don't want to go on television, though, so we will have to think of a solution in addition to investigating Misa Amane."

Light smiled as J came back in the room and dismantled the screen. "Don't worry, Near. I already have."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was one-thirty. Clair stood in Mello's bedroom, trying his hardest to relax; but relaxing didn't come naturally to him, despite his frequent shows of nonchalant lethargy, and the electrifying young man pacing the floor wasn't helping matters any. Every move Mello made set Clair's nerves on end, no matter how much the young don tried to smooth them down.

Fortunately Mello himself seemed oblivious to the struggle. "If I'm reading you right," he said, walking in a slow circle around Clair while looking the don up and down with such intensity Clair felt pinned to the spot by those hypnotic dark eyes, "you don't want anything too bad for now, just ways to show Misa you care."

His throat dry, Clair nodded; this _was_ a good idea, right? "Things that will keep her close, but not too close."

"Got it. I'll start soft and work up." Oh dear, Clair thought. And yet...oh, yes. "First there are casual touches--" --Mello paused and wound his fingers through Clair's-- "cuddling on the couch and all that crap." He slung an arm around Clair's shoulders and hugged the other boy near companionably. "You can feel her side up if she's leaning against you." His hand began to move up and down while still holding Clair protectively against him. "Leaning against you is a very good sign," he continued, tightening his grip around Clair's waist so the other boy fell against him and remained there. "It shows she wants to be near you. If she's cuddling in addition to leaning, that's even better. She probably wants more."

Clair stopped abruptly in the middle of rubbing his head up against Mello's shoulder and, squirming out of Mello's hold, stepped backwards. Mello acted like he didn't notice.

"But judging from your behavior on the first date alone, you've already sent the signal that you've progressed beyond that. You've also bypassed most no-tongue kisses with her, though if you repeat them like so they have the effect of boosting expectations." Starting on the side of Clair's neck, he began to massage his lips spot by spot around the don's head, ignoring the way Clair's pale skin had begun to quiver beneath him. "You just keep going"--kiss-- "and going"--kiss--"until she's putty in your hands..."

Clair didn't appreciate that description at all, considering the weakness in his knees and the jelly wobbling in his head that had once been his brain—and what was worse, that he was enjoying the sensation of powerless Mello's presence exerted on him. Liking something was one thing, but surrendering was quite a different matter. Surrender was for the weak, and Clair wasn't ready to accept that label onto himself just yet.

"...at which point you head for the lips to seal the deal."

Although Clair stared expectantly at this piece of news, Mello waggled a reproachful finger in his face instead. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Vampire. This is merely a hypothetical situation. I can't get _too_ distracted in the middle of a lesson."

Clair stared at the boy in obvious outrage, but Mello didn't relent. In fact, he even stepped back and looked his pupil up and down with a critical eye. "You're shaking," he pointed out smugly. "Are you even sure you want to do it this way? There are other methods of getting close to someone, though I have to admit they're a lot less fun. Still, just letting her have her way all the time should be enough. She's an idol. There's probably nothing she likes better than being the star."

"I can't do that," Clair replied sharply, angry at Mello for toying with him despite having practically asked for it. "I won't let that—that woman—run my life. If that's the only suggestion you've got, go home now. Because I quit." He lowered his head, unable to hide his true feelings; but he spoke softly in a shameful half-hope of remaining unheard. "You really only seek to torture me?"

Mello smiled crookedly; if he'd heard the confession, he showed no signs. "Me? Go home? But we're _in_ my home. And you can't leave until I give you a lift back. You were the one who wanted to ride the bike again, so don't give me that look." Something was wrong. Where was his chocolate bar? Mello should've been eating chocolate during an argument like that. "You're willing to fondle the girl but you won't let her boss you around? What kind of a power addict are you?"

"I'm not going to fondle anyone," Clair shot back, offended and aggravated. Mello had stopped on purpose, he was certain now, and it made his blood boil. "And if anyone's abusing power, it's you. Ever since we met, you've been playing around with me--"

"And whose fault is that?" Mello asked, his voice angry but his face amused. "Oh no, it's not Vampire's, it can't be. Nothing is ever Vampire's fault, because he's been handed everything his entire life." He began to back Clair into a corner, tone growing more and more fierce with every step; Clair tried to maneuver his way out but soon found himself trapped. "Vampire doesn't understand the sacrifices that some people have had to make. Vampire doesn't know what it's like to be number two, because he's been on top all of his life. Usually he can get beyond that, but every now and then he shows his spoiled little boy side, and that's when congressmen start plotting and people start dying. But oh no, Vampire didn't do anything."

Clair's hands balled into fists at his sides, and he trembled with anger, but he curved his lips into mad parody of a smile. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, his voice tinged with denying laughter. "You, who plot conquests while your supposed rival is probably jailing both Kiras as we speak! Why did you really come to me? Tell me! Kira was an excuse, wasn't he?" A revelation was slowly dawning on him. "You felt threatened by me and now you're trying to bring me down. I should kill you for—"

Mello grabbed Clair and held him close, ignoring the way the don squirmed in his arms as sparks shot up and down his spine. "Don't jump to conclusions, Vampire, or you'll have a lot of messes to clean up," he warned the boy. "I've had my eyes on your progress for a while, I'll admit that, but I only came to you because I knew you could help me. You think I could jerk around someone who has anything to offer me? I didn't need you before, but I do now, and I wouldn't dare indebt myself to anyone I didn't respect. There's nothing more pathetic than a man who owes his soul to slime.

"I'm trying to help you, because you can help me. But you won't be of any help if you can't get your mind out of your fairy world and down into the gutter you're ruling! If your father brought you up to believe your position in life was a given, he was a heartless bastard wiring you for self-destruction. Don't try to hit me, you know I'm right." Mello's grip slid down to Clair's wrists and tightened, but his pupils were pinpricks and no longer looking at his captive. "At least you've never had false hope. You've never found a way out, a hand reaching out for you and calling you special when no one else you knew got selected, only to find you were just one of dozens of other kids, all just as special and some even more so. You've never had number one dangled in your face like that; you lost it by your own hands, but that's not the same as having no control. You need to _take_ control, after feeling that helplessness. You need to do whatever it takes, use whatever means necessary, hurt anything in your way...just to have what you thought was going to be yours all along."

Staring, Mello snapped out of his reverie as suddenly as he'd entered it. "That's the real world, Vampire. You've only scratched the surface. Now do you want to win or do you want to remain standing still while everyone else outraces you?"

Clair couldn't speak, afraid of something he'd seen in Mello's face and yet glorifying over it. For a moment—just a moment, as he'd spoken about losing something that had never been his own—the blond had seemed almost vulnerable, almost hurt. And in that instant, Clair had seen through even the long speech, through even the infuriating taunts and half-promises, the withheld kisses and the moments where self-control broke down. It didn't matter that the trappings were different, though Mello had become hung up on the particulars. Deep down, both boys were the same. Mello, whom he'd come to for advice when normally he would never dream of such a concession—Mello, too, could crawl and rail and be deprived. Mello, too, knew what it was like to never be good enough.

The knowledge leveled the field again, gave him strength."I want to win," Clair said with quiet sincerity. "I want Kira to pay for what I've had to go through." He gave the blond a sly, suggestive grin, determined for the crisis to pass as quickly as it had fallen. "I believe you were teaching me how?"

Mello smiled, the tension sliding off of his body as he let Clair go, and returned to the business at hand as if he'd never broken down—denying it had happened? Clair wondered. Yet, although he frowned and chewed his lip in thought, he neither spoke nor moved towards the don.

"What's wrong?" Clair asked, worried that the other boy was rethinking the situation. He couldn't have gotten this far only to be turned away. He wouldn't accept that.

"I've been going about this the wrong way," Mello said, frowning harder, and Clair relaxed—for a moment. "Here. You do to me what I tell you to."

A nervous lump rose in Clair's throat; he swallowed it down and managed a smirk. "Self-indulgence?" he asked. "Doesn't that hurt your cause?"

Mello grinned and faced Clair squarely, arms hanging loose at his sides. "Not really," he admitted, but would not explain himself further. "Where were we?"

"Kissing," Clair murmured, drawing close to the other boy; but he felt himself be pushed away. So Mello _wasn't_ relinquishing control.

Though his face seemed almost wistful, Mello shook his head. "I remember being a little beyond that, though if you're patient we can practice that at the end. Now, you have to be careful with this and judge your timing properly, because some girls are sensitive. Try putting your hands behind my neck and rubbing my shoulders."

Obliging, Clair felt the blond sag beneath his touch and, encouraged, rubbed harder. This wasn't so bad. He could do this one to Misa very easily...and as for Mello, he could to this to him all day...

His victim, however, had other plans. "Yeah. Yeah, you're good at that one." The words sounded a little rushed; was _Mello_ nervous now? Regretting he'd handed over the reins? He'd underestimated Clair, that was obvious, hadn't taken into account that anyone who'd spent almost all their life seeking approval rose to challenges all too easily. "Do my sides now. Gently. You just brush your fingertips across their—ah!"

Encouraged, Clair repeated his motion and watched with satisfaction as Mello shivered at his touch. He wasn't sure if he could do this to Misa, but for the time being it certainly was fun. "Am I not doing it right?" he asked, stepping a little closer as if needing to prove he was serious. "Isn't it nice?"

Mello didn't answer; his eyes were closed and his whole body felt limp beneath Clair's fingers, as if the blond could barely stand. "This was a very good idea you had..." he mused. "I think I like teaching you. But you still aren't quite getting it. Linger for a moment like this." His fingers danced across Clair's sides, and it was the don's turn to gasp slightly. "Show how much you love touching the other person. If you do it right, you end up even happier than them." Clair wondered if that were the present case; the boy's tenderness came as a surprise. "Try again."

Clair did, concentrating hard on getting the movement right, and succeeded.

"Very good," Mello appraised, drifting a hand down the side of Clair's face and kissing the corner of his mouth lightly. "You get a reward." Clair felt satisfaction flush into his cheeks, then winced. The rush had started to _hurt_ as it flooded through the rest of his body. It wasn't supposed to hurt. How could he get that to go away?

"Next," he ordered, feeling the first mist of perspiration frost his brow. "What's next?"

Slowly, Mello placed Clair's hands against him on either side of the rosary hanging from his neck. "I thought you might get bored with that after a while. So if she seems to be bored too...do her breasts."

Clair recoiled, but Mello merely smiled knowingly. "Here. We'll do one hand each. It's not so bad. The funny thing about people is, men's nipples are just as sensitive as women's. Just try. Like this." Gently removing Clair's shirt, he demonstrated.

Mello's hand all over his torso, so different from the harsh way he'd grabbed Clair's wrists, made the boy's entire body throb; he began to move his own hand in a mock puppetry as the pain increased, now strangely flavored with enjoyment. Anything he wanted this badly and had gotten so close to obtaining in the past, after all, couldn't possibly be harmful. And if Mello could be broken the way it now seemed he could...

The blond leaned in, slowly kneading the skin of Clair's chest as the boy barely suppressed a moan, deaf to anything but the roar of his own blood and numb to anything but Mello's touch against his skin, blind to everything but the wide array of stars bursting onto his half-lidded vision. He didn't want Mello to be broken anymore, he wanted to break underneath the pressure, to stop fighting and let whatever happened happen...but he kept imitating the motion in fear that surrender would cause him to lose the boy's respect.

"Am I doing it right?" Clair whispered, caressing Mello as Mello caressed him back; and his voice, thick with longing, was tinged with desperation. "What's going to happen to Misa? Will she do as I say?"

"Harder." Mello's voice was nearly a pant. "We're done with gentleness. Harder." Clair obliged, improvising by resting his head affectionately on Mello's shoulder to put the full weight of his upper body into the motion, and Mello nipped the exposed skin of his neck with equal fondness.

"Of course," the blond added breathlessly, "I don't know about doing something like this to cute little...Misa-Misa...but just to complete the routine...move your hands from her breasts to her hips--" he positioned himself accordingly, gingerly resting his fingertips on Clair's pockets, "and work your fingers in...just to see what happens. But do so at your own peril. Because the result's kind of like—_this_."

Both boys pressed, rotated; Clair's hips bucked forward of their own accord only to meet Mello's halfway through, and his hands, half-mad, went flying up, raking across Mello as he attempted to stabilize himself. Still short of breath, he swatted the rosary out of the way and his mouth closed dumbly over the zipper of Mello's vest, not sure of exactly what he was doing but knowing with searing certainty he wanted to. "And then this, right?" he asked faintly, clamping his teeth down and pulling until the vest hung open and he was wrapped around Mello's waistline, working his tongue into Mello's bellybutton for no other reason than it felt so good to be doing something, anything, instead of just standing there and letting Mello order him around, play with him—Vampire wanted to play too, wanted to rule the playground—he could feel Mello's own hips jerk forward again and knew he'd gotten to the other boy at last—so he _could_ be broken, so they _were_ the same--

But Mello wasn't an easy sovereign to topple. "It's a good try," he murmured, and his voice, though strained, was silk against the raw symphony blaring in Clair's ears. "But you're missing the point a bit. If that's how far you want to go...this is how you do it..." Pulling Clair to his feet, he knelt instead and bit down on the zipper on Clair's pants, fingers undoing the button at the top. Wrapping his arms around Clair's legs, he licked Clair's bellybutton in teasing homage once, then pulled down on the zipper with his mouth.

And the world exploded.

So it seemed, at least, because something blew apart within the young don; he felt the pain build to a snapping point and then every inch of him suddenly ignited...and the only thing that would put out the inferno had suddenly ended up on the floor under him, taking the rest of his clothes with it, so Clair latched on and fell, feeling Mello twist beneath him...fire was nothing new to him, he had risen to power amid fire, it had never failed to entertain before and having it in his own body was the most excruciatingly beautiful thing he'd ever felt.

But it still needed an outlet. Blindly he stripped away the black leather keeping him from his goal and sighed in satisfaction as he heard the other boy cry as he followed through on his intent. He could feel the flames pouring from him into the other boy, heard and felt Mello shuddering beneath him, struggling to regain control, and the sound and the feeling between his legs were worth more than a million ovations from his followers, because they were all just pieces in a game but Mello—Mello transcended the games, the whole stupid farce—Mello was the world, and Vampire was ravaging the world, was burning it to ashes with desire and passion, with his will, just like he'd always dreamed of doing.

Arms pulled him close, and he fell into a tangle of blond hair and pale limbs, felt himself be rolled over and oh! Now Mello was the one razing the universe, pouring out flames of his own, and Clair embraced the new fire to himself, gasping in pain but aware that he would never again in his life be so stimulated, so alive, as he was in the moment, so he had to make it _last_ somehow, any way he could—he twisted up and pulled the boy back down; their legs entwined as they convulsed and panted and cried on the floor, their motions those of agony but their expressions transcendently blissful.

At last all that was left was a puddle of near-drunken euphoria, giggling on the floor as one half massaged the other half's feet and both licked the sweat off the other's body, the salt more delicious than any chocolate ever could become. Clair's brain still buzzed and tingled, though he felt incapable of thought and so lay sluggish and sated for the time being, twisting his neck and prying Mello's mouth open with his own. It didn't take too much provocation; Mello succumbed easily, one hand around Clair's back and the other still working Clair's body beneath his fingers, sending waves of desire coursing through the don to which at present he lacked the strength to respond. Just continuing the current was all right, though; he felt dimly aware of doing the same thing to the blond boy, all reserve burnt away by a fire that already he missed, already he craved again. He'd discovered something addictive, he could tell; but Clair had been addicted to danger his entire life and the feeling was nothing new. No, there was something else flavoring this new opiate, something strange and alien but at the same time welcome, because he'd been waiting nearly twenty years for it to come along and set his mind at ease.

For this first time in his life, Clair Leonelli knew what it was like to be totally, completely, mind-killingly happy. The loathsome turns his life had taken? Gone. His father's expectations, and even Mello's harsh words to him before? Gone. The girl for whom he was supposed to be preparing the apartment? She had never existed. _This_ was all that mattered, having this feeling and keeping it close to him, and he'd destroy anything that interrupted his supply without a second thought.

Mello pried his tongue free only to move his head a fraction of an inch and suck on Clair's lip ring, his own head apparently still swimming as well. "Welcome to the real world, then, Vampire," he whispered drowsily around the obstruction, and the words absorbed themselves into Clair's impressionable mind until he nearly believed everything else in life had not only vanished, but been a fleeting nightmare from which he'd awoken in Paradise. "It took you long enough."

"I'll never leave again," Clair promised, noticing tears had begun to bead in Mello's eyes. He'd made Mello cry? Why? Lifting his head though his aching neck protested, he kissed the tears away. "Tell me you won't either."

Mello rolled on top of Clair again. "Well," he purred, his toes kneading into the balls of Clair's feet until the don could barely contain all the pleasure overloading his system. "What do you think?"

Clair smiled and held on tight once more, savoring the pressure he could feel already rebuilding itself inside of him. The ride would be slower this time, he figured, but no less exciting. "I think you're going to have to prove yourself to me again."

Mello's devil smile seemed crowned with a halo from Heaven. "I intend to."

It was, if possible, even better the second time, for as Clair felt Mello shove his fire back into his body a thought drifted across his mind that built his spirit up again and tore his mouth open with peals of chest-shaking laughter. He hadn't been caving to Mello all this time because he was weak; Mello plainly needed him just as badly. No, he'd been afraid of losing Mello from the very beginning, afraid even when offended to kill the boy or send him away forever, and now Mello surely felt the same way about him. If Mello wanted the joy to last, if he wanted a continuing supply of his fix, he had to do whatever Clair asked, for the real power had lain in Vampire's hands all along. Mello couldn't refuse Clair anything from now on.

The blond wouldn't mind his newly sealed servitude, the young don mused to himself as Mello finished and let himself be dominated in turn, tears of pain and happiness definitely beading at the corners of those beautiful flinty eyes. After all, it was a power Clair fully intended to use for their mutual benefits.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Matt stopped by the apartment two hours later at Mauro's request after a quick detour a supermarket to help Mello restock his chocolate. After knocking several times and getting no response, he adjusted the box of candy in his arms and tried the door handle. Thwarted by the lock, he dug around in his tuxedo pocket until he found his key and opened the door.

Carrying the box into the bedroom, calling for the two seemingly absent young men, his burden fell from stunned fingers as he stood in the doorway. Lying in the corner, arms still entwining each other, with clothes rumpled and strewn underneath them...only the rising and falling of two pale, sweaty chests showed they both were still alive...and Mello was actually resting his sleeping head on Clair's forearm...Mello was letting himself be comforted, letting himself be held...and he was at peace...no, they both were; he'd never known Clair could smile like that, so carefree and childish. Why, oh why, did he have to look so like a child as he lay there, bare-legged and clinging to a human landmine...

Matt sat down on the bed, feeling it was rude to stare, but he couldn't help himself. And they hadn't even made it onto the _bed_? For crying out loud, it was less than ten feet away! Would it have killed them to aim a little better? Or...could they not wait even that long...

Shoulders heaving, he stood and pulled the blanket off the bed, laying it gently over the pair so they wouldn't get cold. "That's right, Vampire," he said softly, trying to tame a tremor in his voice. "It wasn't so scary, was it? I'll bet you liked it. I'm sure he liked... liked you back...that's great...I'm happy for you both...I wanted this too..."

He'd wanted _something_, he knew, and had been wanting it for a very long time. Abstractly he wished his best friend all the luck in the world, and the young don all the happiness the past twenty years had denied him. Distantly, logically, as Matt the bodyguard and as Mello's sole confidante, he could give the couple on the floor, resting after what was no doubt the most exhilarating afternoon of both young lives, all the blessings his goodwill could contain. But there was something else, something tainting his earnest well-wishing, a shadow he could not and did not want to tame.

The door closed, leaving the sleepers to their recovery and their companionship; a pair of goggles fell to the ground, closely followed by a body sliding into a seated position. His frame shook, the heels of his palms dug into his exposed eyes, eyes that could not see a full foot in front of him—fitting shortsightedness for such a selfish bastard, he told himself. He had no right...Mello was all that mattered, and if Mello was happier with Clair, then his happiness would become his friend's as well...so really, he was happy...if Mello..._Mello..._

But he wept for himself anyway.


End file.
